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UNDER SUMMER 
SKIES 


By 

GRACE IRWIN 


Little Miss Redhead 
Under Summer Skies 




Flopsy's knees were wobbling . 

























UNDER 

SUMMER SKIES 


By 

GRACE IRWIN 

'V 

Illustrated by 
the Author 



1937 

Boston New York 

LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD 

COMPANY 



Copyright 1937 

BY LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 



FRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

SEP -4 1937 


©Cl h 


109283 




CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Longest Day in the Year . 11 

II. First Visitors at Emerald Lake . 33 

III. More Visitors at Emerald Lake . 56 

IV. Flopsy Gets Some News ... 79 

V. Alice, Flopsy and Two Horses . Ill 

VI. Alice Holt Spends the Night and 

Flopsy Hears of a Plan . . 132 

VII. Flopsy Takes a Journey . . . 155 

VIII. Sunday at Camp . . . .180 

IX. Letters and a Canoe Test . .197 

X. An Over-Night Canoe Trip . .212 

XI. “And They Lived Happily Ever 
After” 


229 

























UNDER SUMMER 
SKIES 
















Chapter One 

The Longest Day in the Year 

T ^HE bright sun blazed early into Flopsy’s 
bedroom that June morning. In fact, it could 
not have blazed its way more early, for it 
was the dawn of the longest day of the year. Flopsy’s 
eyes were positively pried open by its dazzling beams, 
and as she blinked towards her eastern windows her 
whole face reflected the radiance of the rising sun. 
She was happy—very happy. Never, in the thirteen 
years of her life had she gone to sleep so blissfully 
content that she was a small girl who had been 
christened Flora Madden Moore, and that those 
who loved and knew her best called her by the silly 
nick-name Flopsy . 

She lay very still day-dreaming, and her dreams 
were as rosy as the dawn of a beautiful day. What 
a night the one before had been! Could she ever 
be done talking about it? After she and her family 
had returned from that simply marvelous graduation, 
they had talked and talked, laughed and laughed. 
Yes, and cried a bit from sheer unexpected joy. It 
had been long after two o’clock, before anyone as 
much as mentioned bed. She had never stayed up 
that late in her whole life. And she had not been 
in the least sleepy when she had thrown her arms 
about her mother’s neck for one last good-night kiss. 

11 


12 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


One? There had been a baker’s dozen of good-night 
kisses. For hours, it seemed she had lain awake, 
going over and over the events of the evening. She 
had at last put her self to sleep repeating the words 
of her composition that she had recited before the 
whole auditorium. Over and over she chanted the 
familiar words, and a sweeter lullaby she had never 
heard in her whole life. She never knew when she 
was done saying the words and began dreaming them. 
“Sweet dreams” her mother had said as she had 
left her. And, oh, they had been! Around and 
around whirled the joyous triumphs, like the tiny 
rainbow pieces she had once seen in a kaleidoscope. 

But not for ever could she be content to lie still 
and dream. She sat up in bed and then crawled down 
to its foot, and peered out into the back garden. She 
drew a long deep sigh of contentment. It was a lovely 
world! With this deeply drawn breath she had in¬ 
haled the perfume of her mother’s lilac bush. It was 
the most beautiful lilac bush in the entire neighbor¬ 
hood. “And it’s older than you,” her mother once 
said. 

“It’s a sweet smelling world! It’s a beautiful look¬ 
ing world! It’s a lovely sounding one!” (The birds 
in the great oak tree were all atwitter.) Flopsy lay 
back upon her bed again and turned her head towards 
her little bureau and discovered to her dismay that 
her small green clock said exactly half-past five. 

“Goodness!” she sighed again, but this was not a 
long drawn sigh of satisfaction, but a short one of 
exasperation. “No one will be up for a long time. 
Not until seven at least. And I want to talk some 
more about last night.” 

A faint frown clouded the radiance of her face. 



THE LONGEST DAY 


13 


She simply must talk—and talk about last night. 
She longed for the day to begin in earnest. She could 
scarcely wait to see again her new found friend, 
Babbie, whose startling appearance on that platform 
last night didn’t seem real this morning. Could she 
have dreamed it all? She must as soon as possible 
reassure herself that Babbie had actually come way 
across the country from her ranch in Rawhide, and 
had received a diploma with the other grammar 
school graduates of Number Nine. It had been an 
almost unbelievable surprise when Mr. Shirley, the 
President of the Board of Education, had held out 
that last diploma and had said, “Barbara Hilton.” 

Flopsy wriggled with ecstasy when she recalled 
that moment. It was an enchanted moment. It cast 
a spell over the entire auditorium. Although Miss 
Hilton had more than once spoken to her pupils of 
her frail little sister about their age who lived on a 
ranch and who had never been to school—they never 
could have dreamed that she would graduate with 
them. Flopsy knew more about Babbie than her 
classmates, but she never even in her wildest imagina¬ 
tion could have fancied anything so exciting. 

Something of this excitement swept over her again 
—and she sat bolt upright in bed. She was getting 
very tired of being by herself. The perfume of the 
lilac bush, the sweet twitter of the birds, and rosy 
sun itself, were beginning to bore her. She longed 
for some one to talk to. She fell back in a little heap 
at the foot of the bed. 

“I wonder what the very first thing Daddy will 
say, when he sees me this morning. Something very 
silly, I bet.” She grinned to herself. He would 
make fun of her, tease her, she knew only too well. 




14 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


But he couldn’t fool her! He had been very proud 
of her the night before, he could not disguise this 
fact, no matter how much he tried. She leaped out 
of bed and ran to the door, opened it and stuck her 
head out in the hall. There wasn’t a sound. 

“Not even a mouse,” she groaned, and shut her 
door as noisily as she dared. “Perhaps,” she thought 
hopefully, “that closing door may disturb someone. 
Gosh,” she complained as she walked slowly over to 
her bed, “this is as bad as Christmas morning, waiting 
and waiting for people to get up! Goodness, I never 
knew Dickie and Frankie to be so quiet in the morn¬ 
ing. They just never are when I want to sleep. They 
are usually imps and holy terrors.” 

The rosy sun which had awakened her was rapidly 
becoming uncomfortably hot. She threw herself at 
the foot of the bed again, and propped herself so 
she could look down into the garden. She turned 
her nose up at the lilac bush in full bloom. Scenery 
could get very tiresome, she pouted. There was 
nothing she could do at this minute but to go on 
thinking. But prolonged and solitary thinking proved 
too much for her—as it always did. She fell fast 
asleep with one arm crooked under her head. 

“Flopsy! Flopsy! FLOP-SY!” her mother’s voice 
came singing from down stairs. “You little sleepy 
head!” 

Flopsy sat up with a start. Where was she? What 
had happened? She had a crick in her neck, her arm 
was asleep. O-o-OH—it was hot! She couldn’t 
seem to get her wits together. 

“How did I get down here at the foot of the bed?” 
She frowned sulkily, and shook her arm to get the 
prickers out of it. Sleepy head, indeed! She could 



THE* LONGEST DAY 


15 


at least remember that she had practically been awake 
all night. Through heavy eyes she glared sleepily 
at her little green clock. Her eyes sprang open with 
surprise—sleep was torn from them in a twinkling. 
Nine o’clock! She sprang out of bed. The sounds 
and perfumes of the early morning had disappeared. 
The house was no longer quiet. Dickie and Frankie 
were making a terrific racket out on the sun porch, 
quite unlike the twittering of the birds at dawn. Mr. 
and Mrs. Moore were laughing and talking in the 
dining room. The perfume which now came to her 
nostrils was that of coffee and bacon. That moment 
of heavy sleepiness and crossness vanished in a 
flash. To think she had wasted some very precious 
moments sleeping when she might have been down 
stairs talking over that graduation from School 
Number Nine! 

Flopsy made short work of dressing. She slipped 
into her green shorts, fastened to them a gay top 
with its sun back—poked her feet into a pair of sandals 
—dashed for the bathroom. She rubbed a wash rag 
in a circular motion about her face after the manner 
of a cat washing its face, but not as thoroughly. She 
fairly bounced down the stairs and leaped over the last 
balustrade and sprang into the dining room. Her 
father looked up over his paper startled by the sudden 
rush and commotion. Instantly he covered his face 
with the paper. 

Flopsy did look so self-conscious, so self-satisfied, 
as she stood in the doorway. Mr. Moore did not want 
her to see the keen relish he took in her. She did 
look so—funny. Waiting for praise, the little minx! 
p ert —but sweet! Crazy kid—but smart— All this 
to himself, of course. He wouldn’t tell her. It was 



16 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


far more fun teasing her. He lowered his paper and 
looked up over its rim with a wide-eyed innocent 
expression. 

“It’s a mighty good thing for you, Miss Flopsy 
Wopsy Moore, that today wasn’t yesterday. It’s 
hotter than all get-out. Would you be interested in 
knowing what the thermometer is at this moment?” 
he asked her gravely and as though it were of the 
greatest possible interest to her. 

Flopsy shook her head from side to side vigor¬ 
ously, and wrinkled up her nose in disdain. No one 
could have mistaken her complete contempt for the 
thermometer—no one but her father. 

a Ah, I see you are concerned. And, I will hasten 
to enlighten you at once. The temperature at this 
moment, my child, is 83—and the promise is that 
it will reach the 100 mark before the day is out. 
Consider, my dear daughter, what that auditorium 
would have been like if the outside temperature had 
been 100? Our clothes would have stuck fast to 
the chairs, and imagine if you can, what would have 
happened when we arose patriotically to the Star 
Spangled Banner. They would have been ripped 
right off us. Wouldn’t that have been embarrass¬ 
ing, wouldn’t it have spoiled the whole beautiful 
effect? Tch! Tch!” he chuckled dismally. “My, 
you are lucky! And, by the way, I want to pay 
you a compliment.” Flopsy’s eyes brightened with 
hope. “Your hair comb, this morning is beyond all 
description. Marvellous! Now, I see why you were 
late for breakfast.” 

Flopsy’s hands went to her head. Her curls were 
standing up on end. Oh dear, she hadn’t combed 
them! 



THE LONGEST DAY 


17 


“Isn’t Flopsy’s hair picturesque, my dear?” Mr. 
Moore turned to his wife who had just come into 
the dining room from the kitchen. “It looks for all 
the world like a hay rick in the glow of the setting 
sun.” 

“Oh daddy!” Flopsy fell into her place at the 
table with a long drawn out sigh. 

Mrs. Moore shook her head, but she was smiling, 
Flopsy noted. 

“Flopsy, you never combed your hair this morn¬ 
ing.” 

“A little,” Flopsy fibbed cheerfully. Her mother 
looked good natured enough to play a little trick 
upon. 

“A little—this way—a little that way—but never 
once in the same direction, I could swear to that. 
But the result is so amazing, that I can only offer 
you' my congratulations,” Mr. Moore said with a 
broad grin. 

“Flopsy,” Mrs. Moore laughed tolerantly, and 
changed the subject mercifully, “you have had four 
telephone calls this morning.” 

“Four!” Flopsy gasped in dismay, and her orange 

juice went down the wrong way. 

“Yes, four. Fleurette at seven. Alice at fifteen 
minutes after seven. Then Dottie—and—” 

“Babbie,” Flopsy sputtered between gasps and 
much pounding of her chest. 

“No, not Babbie—a reporter.” 

“A what?” Flopsy turned white. 

“A reporter from a newspaper. Surely you have 
heard of reporters—after all the movies you have 
seen —” Mr. Moore suggested hopefully. 

Flopsy’s face went even whiter—the faint freckles 



18 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


stood out on her nose. Her eyes were dark and large, 
her mouth was parted breathlessly. 

“A reporter—not a policeman,” Mr. Moore com¬ 
forted her. “At any rate, we may be thankful 
that you were frightened out of your choking fit—I 
was afraid you were going to strangle to death.” 

“A reporter?” Flopsy said weakly. “A reporter?” 
she repeated. 

Mr. Moore took out his watch and looked at it, 
then he glanced under his eyebrows at his daughter 
who showed signs of being frightened stiff with a 
nameless horror. 

“I must run along—but I know your mother can 
soothe your fears. Perhaps she can make you re¬ 
member last night. You thought then that your 
graduation was like none other that had ever gone 
before it. Quite apparently others agree with you. 
It will make a very pretty newspaper story. Little 
lame sister, miraculously cured leaves her ranch in 
the west to graduate in big sister’s class in the east. 
Big sister surprises everyone by wearing a beautiful 
diamond ring given to her by one of the local heroes! 
All very thrilling and touching.” Mr. Moore stood 
up, and went to his daughter’s side, and started to 
put his hand on her head. “No, I will not touch 
the artistic creation you have made of your hair, 
I might spoil some of its artistic—abandon. Good¬ 
bye, my child, I’ll read about you in the afternoon 
papers—” 

Mrs. Moore followed her husband out into the 
hall. Flopsy never looked up, never moved a hair’s 
breath. 

“Gone up two points!” Mr. Moore called back, 
after he had examined the thermometer. “It’s a 



THE LONGEST DAY 


19 


good thing we are going to get out of this. It’s going 
to be a sizzler all right—all right—” his last words 
seemed to burn up in the hot sun. 

Mrs. Moore came back into the dining room, and 
laughed outright. She did not mean to make fun of 
Flopsy but she did look so funny. She was still 
sitting in the same position and her expression had 
not changed since she had heard the dreadful word 
—reporter. 

“Good gracious! I see I have a frozen stiff child 
on my hands this roaring hot day. What is it, 
Flopsy?” 

Flopsy stirred and shivered. 

“Mother, what did that reporter want, and why 
did he call me?” she faltered. 

Mrs. Moore sat down at the table and poured 

herself another cup of coffee. 

“Flopsy you funny child, you would think it was 
a policeman as your father suggested and that you had 
a guilty conscience. It seems he wanted to get. in 
touch with Miss Hilton, but Mrs. Jackson with 
whom she boards has no telephone. Some one had 
told the reporter that you were a great friend of 
Babbie’s. You recall, she shared your seat with you 
last night. Besides, he thought perhaps you could give 
some specially interesting details about her -a new 
slant. They—the newspaper people are going to 
make a very nice story about it all. It was a very 
unusual grammar school graduation, you know. 

Smile, my dear, all is well!” 

Flopsy’s eyes brightened and she smiled faintly. 

“You see, it was very unusual for a little girl, 
who had never been in school before, to graduate and 
receive a diploma from a grammar school. And, it 



20 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


was still more unusual that the teacher who coached 
her was her own sister.” 

“Did you tell him—” Flopsy burst out, all eager¬ 
ness now, “did you tell him about the ranch, and 
how she fell from a horse and it made her lame for 
a while? Did you tell him Miss Hilton wrote to 
her sister about me and that she liked me best of all 
her sister’s pupils? Did you tell him she thought I 
was very funny? And she liked red hair? Did you 
tell him she never saw me until last night? Did you 
say—” 

“Hold on, you little publicity seeker. When you 
talk for publication—you talk!” 

“I bet he wanted my picture,” Flopsy’s eyes were 
shining, she was all in a quiver of excitement. 
“Wouldn’t that be terrific? Alice and Fleurette 
would be just green with jealousy. But it would be 
only right, because Miss Hilton wrote to Babbie more 
about me than she did them. Oh dear—I bet I 
haven’t got a picture.” 

“Yes, he did mention a picture—but—” 

“But, don’t you think it ought to be my picture 
and not Alice’s or Fleurette’s?” Flopsy’s face fell. 
“After all, I was the one who—” 

“Just a minute, just a minute. You haven’t a 
decent picture that I can lay my hands on at this 
minute—” 

“Oh dear, isn’t that awful! Can’t you find one? 
And, I hope you told him that—” 

“Flopsy, reporters work for newspapers—he wasn’t 
asking to write a book about you—” Mrs. Moore 
stood up. “There are things to be done this day. We 
can’t sit here talking forever. Daddy is going to see 





THE LONGEST DAY 


21 


Mr. Morton this morning, he has decided to take 
their cottage for the month of July at Emerald Lake. 
Or before, if we can get it. Now, my dear child may 
I hope for some help from you? It’s a large hope I 
realize fully—your head is in the clouds. The boys 
have been on the warpath ever since they got up—too 
little sleep. Flopsy,” Mrs. Moore’s tone was almost 
sharp. “Please, come down to earth for one minute! 
I want you to collect all your clothes which need 
washing and bring them down to me.” 

Flopsy stood up and stared at her mother blankly. 

“Oh dear—!” Mrs. Moore was completely dis¬ 
couraged by her daughter’s vacant expression. “Lis¬ 
ten to me, we, the Moore family bag and baggage 
are leaving this house in a few days and there are a 
million and one things to do. Please help me.” Mrs. 
Moore almost wailed. 

Flopsy deliberately made her eyes blink with in¬ 
terest and excitement. She hoped that she looked the 
picture of rapt attention. But, she was muddled 
inside. Things were happening too fast. 

“Emerald Lake is much nearer than the shore 
we’ve always gone to, isn’t it?” Flopsy backed 
towards the door, as though to obey her mother’s 
command to go upstairs. 

“Yes! Yes! Much nearer—daddy will be able 
to come up every night. It’s not much more than an 
hour’s ride by car. Now, please skip along.” 

Flopsy darted for the door and started up the 
stairs. She stopped short and hung over the balus¬ 
trade. 

“Mother,” she called gaily, her voice trembling 
with a sudden brilliant idea. “Now, I can have some 




22 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


of my friends up to see me for a few days. Can’t I? 
It was always too far to ask them before. Oh boy, 
will that be nice!” 

“Oh yes, by all means. Heavens! The boys are 
all but killing each other. Boys! Boys! BOYS!” she 
made a dash for the sun parlor. 

Flopsy walked slowly up the stairs—very slowly. 
Her mother had said her head was in the clouds. 
But this could hardly express it. The clouds were 
way below her—her head was in the stratosphere— 
that space where few mortals have ever gone—and 
none except in a balloon. All was clear and beautiful 
about her. Down, down below her was the earth 
and still farther down in some remote and forgotten 
place were the clothes her mother had asked her to 
get. 

“I’ll ask Alice, first—no, I’ll ask Babbie and Miss 
Hilton—then Fleurette—then Dottie—then Mary. 
No, I won’t invite Mary, she’s a big stick-in-the-mud.” 
Flopsy frowned a little. “No, Mary would be a big 
pain—she never can do anything.” As she walked 
into her room a happy thought struck her. “It will 
be just swell to have Janet. She always thinks she 
has everything—I’ll show her, we can have a summer 
cottage. I won’t ask her though, until I can make a 
beautiful dive. And swim across the lake.” By this 
time Flopsy had reached her bureau and stood staring 
at herself in its mirror. She raised her arms above 
her head and bent her body as though about to dive 
into the water. Her reflection did not altogether 
please her, for she could not see her legs and feet. 
So, she got up on her bed—and stood on it and curled 
her toes over its edge, as though it were the end of a 
diving board. She raised her arms again, bent her 




THE LONGEST DAY 


23 


body. The effect, she felt must be perfect, but when 
she tried looking down at the “water” and into the 
mirror at the same second, she lost her balance and 
took a very unexpected nose dive to the floor. She 
lay still a few minutes hardly realizing what hit 
her. Then she giggled. 

“What a belly wopper, that was!” she snickered 
and sat up. “Yes, Janet will be the very last one to 
come up to our lake. Wouldn’t she love it? Oh 
glory!” 

In fact, any and all of her friends would take a 
wicked joy in seeing her take such a flip flop—and 
how she would have laughed at them! 

“But Janet—that’s different!” Flopsy wouldn’t 
have admitted it for the world—but she was a little 
envious of Janet. Janet had such a superior air 
about her at times. And she had been to an expensive 
camp for girls and thought she knew everything about 
swimming, diving, horseback riding, and canoes. 

“Janet will be last—” she repeated as she brushed 
the damp curls back from her face. “Glory it is— 
HOT!” she was still lying on the floor. 

From down stairs came a few furious howls. Mrs. 
Moore had evidently shaken up her two small sons. 
Flopsy jumped to her feet suddenly brought to her 
senses by the uproar. She stood in front of her mirror 
again. In a husky, melodramatic voice she began to 
recite her composition “In the Old Lighthouse 
Garden.” She waved her arms in all directions and 
rolled her eyes in as many more. This, needless 
to say, was not the way she had done it the night 
before. She had delighted the whole audience with 
the quiet simplicity of her manner and her deep rich 
voice. She broke off abruptly— 



24 UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Oh heck, I haven’t a picture for the newspaper. 
That reporter will be just —disgusted .” She stopped 
and sat down and felt very sorry for the reporter. 
She wished she could give him a beautiful picture of 
herself—so beautiful that people would be so amazed 
that they would say, “My, she is as beautiful as she 
is smart!” 

The telephone was ringing frantically. Flopsy was 
jarred right out of her day-dreaming. She started 
for the door. Probably, she thought, it was the re¬ 
porter again. Poor man, they would have to disap¬ 
point him. Her mother was answering the telephone. 
She hung over the balustrade and listened. 

“Oh yes, Alice. Flopsy is up now. She is helping 
me—or perhaps I should say—I hope she is—but I 
have my doubts. FLOPSY!” Mrs. Moore called. 
“Flopsy, Alice wants you and for the land’s sake 
will you please bring me those clothes I asked you 
for. You haven’t such an extensive wardrobe that it 
should have taken you all this time to do your sort¬ 
ing.” 

Flopsy spun around like a top. She was eager to 
dash down stairs and talk to Alice—but she didn’t 
dare appear anywhere in sight of her mother with¬ 
out her clothes which needed washing. 

“Oh dear!” she wailed running this way and that 
like a chicken with its head off. “I hope Alice will 
wait—oh goodness!” 

Her mother, something told her, would not wait. 
Her patience showed unmistakable signs of growing 
very thin. And as her mother was right on hand and 
Alice at the other end of the telephone wire, she had 
better appease her mother first. She dashed for her 
closet—grabbed up everything in sight helter skelter 






THE LONGEST DAY 


25 


—and flew down stairs. She dropped the bundle 
beside her on the floor as she sat at the telephone 
table. 

“Oh, Alice,” she panted, “isn’t it HOT! I am 
boiling over—I—am—oh!” her voice faltered and 
she stopped off short. Her mother was standing be¬ 
side her. There was something in her expression— 
something that made her forget Alice. 

“May a kind and merciful heaven give me pa¬ 
tience,” Mrs. Moore said with a long drawn out 
sigh. “Mrs. Titmouse ironed that dress beautifully 
only two days ago—and you have not worn it.” 
“That dress” was now a mass of wrinkles. Her 
mother was sorting the bundle. Under her breath 
she murmured— 

“No wonder mothers grow gray!” 

“Alice,” Flopsy said into the telephone, glad to 
avoid the cold glitter in her mother’s eyes, “I am 
helping mother—” 

“Indeed?” Mrs. Moore raised her eyes to heaven. 

“You see,” Flopsy went on in a rush. “We are 
going away in a few days. Do you mind—I’ll call 
you back in a few minutes?” Flopsy hung up and 
with a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expres¬ 
sion looked up at her mother. 

“Flopsy, I am only going to ask one more favor 
of you. Just one. Will you please go over to Alice’s 
—go to Fleurette’s—go anywhere, but keep from 
under my feet. You are worse than useless this morn- 
mg.” 

Flopsy could scarcely believe her ears. But she 
wouldn’t ask her mother to repeat this order—it 
would be like tempting fate. 

“I will try to get Mrs. Titmouse over to help 



26 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


me,” her mother went on, and then turned to go 
into the kitchen. “I suppose, I can’t very much 
blame you after all this excitement. But, will you 
please—COMB YOUR HAIR!” 

Flopsy walked slowly up the stairs. Her lovely 
bubble had burst. She felt very uncomfortable and 
guilty. However, her guilt did not weigh her down 
for too long for in five minutes she was out the door 
and racing up the street. She spied Mary Howard 
coming towards her. 

“Oh—Yoo-hoo, Mary!” she yelled wildly and, as 
though Mary was the one person in the world she 
had hoped most to meet, she broke into a run. 

Mary and Flopsy stood talking for only five min¬ 
utes but in that short time Flopsy had not only asked 
her—but urged her to come up and spend a few 
days at Emerald Lake. She had told her all about 
the reporter who had called up and wanted her pic¬ 
ture for the paper. Mary’s eyes had positively popped 
right out of her head. She had been even more im¬ 
pressed than Flopsy might have hoped. A reporter! 
Flopsy’s picture in the paper! My, but Flopsy was 
an important person! Mary was enormously flattered 
that such a celebrity should invite her to her summer 
cottage. She accepted the invitation at once and with 
great pleasure. Flopsy dashed on, leaving Mary 
abruptly. She had to see Alice immediately, Alice 
simply had to hear about the reporter’s calling her 
up—Alice had to be invited to Emerald Lake. 

As the morning blazed away, Flopsy blazed with 
it—to new heights of glory. She was decidedly the 
most important personage in her small world. Lav¬ 
ishly and generously she tossed about invitations to 
her summer cottage. Before she returned home, she 




THE LONGEST DAY 


21 


had asked Mrs. Holt and Alice, also Alice’s big sister; 
Mrs. Muldoon and Fleurette; Dottie Green and her 
mother. But at the Green’s she managed to hold in 
on some of her generosity. She did not ask Dottie’s 
young sister Margaret. No siree! What a pest 
Margaret was! Then she ran home in high spirits. 
What a wonderful morning it had been. And, wasn’t 
she happy she had not asked Margaret Green! 
Everything was perfect. 

When she reached her house her mother was wait¬ 
ing for her on the top step. 

“Flopsy, where on earth have you been—I’ve been 
telephoning in all directions? You had just left 
Alice’s—you had just left Fleurette’s. Miss Hilton 
and Babbie were here, they were very sorry not to 
have seen you.” 

Every bit of happiness and joy within Flopsy 
promptly withered and died. She looked at her 
mother in dismay. 

“Oh dear—isn’t that awful!” she wailed. “I 
wanted more than anything to see Babbie. When will 
they come back?” 

“Not all summer I am afraid, Flopsy. They are 
leaving tonight on a sleeper for Maine ” 

“Maine!” Flopsy squealed in dispair. “That’s so 
far away. Oh dear, that’s awful.” She sat down on 
the top step and slowly wiped off her hot face with 
one arm. 

Mrs. Moore sat down beside her, her expression 
was very sympathetic. She put one arm across Flop- 
sy’s shoulders. 

“I know how disappointed you must be. Babbie 
was just as disappointed as you are. She was all eager¬ 
ness to see you—” 



28 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Tears welled up in Flopsy’s eyes. “I’ll never see 
her again.” 

“Oh, yes you will, darling. Miss Hilton said you 
would—well, I don’t know what she meant, but she 
said that she had some very happy plans for you and 
Babbie—” 

“Plans?” Flopsy echoed. “What were they?” 

“She would not say—but she promised to write 
you in a few weeks. She will be too busy next week. 
You see, she is taking Babbie to a girl’s camp, where 
she herself is going to be a counselor. But as soon 
as they get settled, she is going to write you.” 

“Plans?” Flopsy’s face brightened. “Maybe, she 
is going to take me out on the ranch, maybe—. If 
they wait too long, I couldn’t go—I wouldn’t get 
back in time for high school. But—” she broke off 
with a sigh, “I guess I better not count my bridges 
before they are hatched—” 

“Pretty fancy they must be—I’d like to see them, 
very much,” Mr. Moore’s voice startled both Flopsy 
and her mother, he had come up across the grass and 
they had not heard him. 

“What, are pretty—fancy?” Flopsy looked around 
in a puzzled fashion. 

“The eggs from which those bridges of yours are 
hatched,” Mr. Moore said solemnly. “Didn’t I hear 
you say something about hatching out bridges? The 
eggs must be something worth seeing.” 

“Why, what are you doing home at this hour?” 
Mrs. Moore asked in surprise. 

“Oh, I had to see Mr. Morton about the cottage— 
and by the way Flopsy, I asked your boy friend and 
his father up to the lake—I hear that he is quite a 
fisherman—and there is mighty fine bass fishing at 
Emerald Lake.” 



THE LONGEST DAY 


29 


“My boy friend Flopsy raised her eye brows. “I 
haven’t one.” 

“Why, of course you have! Young Forbes, Bill, 
you call him.” 

“Bill Forbes!” Flopsy shrieked. “That big show 
off—that hunk of cheese.” 

“Now, now, before you blow up—look at this—” 
Mr. Moore laid a newspaper on her lap opened to one 
of its inside pages. “Cast your eye on that—it will 
cheer you up.” 

“Oh mother, listen to this—” Flopsy’s words fell 
over each other in her excitement. “SURPRISE AT 
GRAMMAR SCHOOL GRADUATION- 
THRILLS AUDIENCE AT SCHOOL NUM¬ 
BER NINE—TEACHER REVEALS RO¬ 
MANCE.” Flopsy’s eyes leaped over these head¬ 
lines to some pictures near them. There was one of 
Miss Hilton—and—Flopsy’s face turned a pale sea 
sick green. She let out a shrill, feeble squeal. 

“Catch her before she faints,” Mr. Moore winked 
at his wife. 

“Oh look—oh look!” Flopsy gasped. “Look at 
me! Where did that terrible reporter get THAT 
picture. Isn’t it AWFUL? It makes me look cross¬ 
eyed. One of my eyes too, is bigger than the other. 
And one of my teeth is out. It’s an old, old picture 
—I look six years old—And what a dopey looking 
dress.” Her eyes filled with angry tears. 

Mrs. Moore took the paper and one glance at 
Flopsy’s picture was enough. Over her daughter’s 
head she gave her husband a meaning look. Mr. 
Moore had taken this snap shot of Flopsy when she 
was nearly seven. He always carried it in his bill 
fold. He had liked it—even the missing tooth had 
struck him as cute and funny. He now grinned sheep- 






30 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


ishly and guiltily. Mr. Morton was not the only 
person he had seen this morning, Mrs. Moore de¬ 
cided. Flopsy broke into a torrent. “We ought to 
sue that reporter. He is a double-crosser and a sneak. 
I am going to see Alice’s father, he is a judge. I 
wish he’d put that reporter in jail for life. See what 
it says under my picture, ‘She was in on the secret.’ 
Well, he wouldn’t dare let us in on the secret of 
how he got that picture, he wouldn’t dare—I bet he 
stole it.” 

“Laugh at it,” Mrs. Moore tried to cheer her, be¬ 
cause Mr. Moore was now looking very uncomfort¬ 
able. “Your eyes were not crossed in that snap shot 
—the newspaper has touched them up—or blurred 
them. Anyway, people always laugh at newspaper 
pictures.” 

“I bet they will—everybody will but me. They 
will all think it’s a scream. But if anyone gets funny 
about it—I’ll—” whatever her vicious threat might 
be, she did not state it, but stood up and stalked into 
the house haughtily. 

“Whew!” Mr. Moore wiped off his forehead. 
“I guess I’ll lay low. If you do not want to be a 
widow, my dear, you had better keep your suspicions 
to yourself. That girl who just walked into the 
house certainly had murder in her eyes, and I am not 
fooling.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Moore like a pair of conspirators 
crept into the house. 

However, to their surprise during the rest of the 
day, Flopsy apparently, as her father expressed it, 
‘got a tremendous kick out of raging at a newspaper.’ 
The telephone rang incessantly, and she blew up and 
stormed all over again every time that awful picture 



THE LONGEST DAY 


31 


was mentioned. She felt very much in the public eye 
and enormously important. 

By night she was very weary and longed with all 
her heart for the day to end, just as hours before she 
had longed for it to begin. She would not for the 
world have admitted that she wanted to go to bed. 
The sun blazed on and on, and she simply could not 
go to bed by daylight. Her mother found her curled 
up in a forlorn little heap in the corner of the porch 
swing. 

“Life has been a little too thrilling, too exciting for 
you, hasn’t it, honey?” Mrs. Moore sat down beside 
her. 

“I was just thinking, that last night seems so far, 
far away—” there was a funny little catch in Flopsy’s 
voice, which she was trying to keep from quivering. 
What was the matter with her, she wondered? She 
had such a gone, lonely feeling. 

“I understand, I know—” her mother nodded 
sympathetically. “You were in seventh heaven last 
night—and you’ve lived through more excitement 
in the last twenty-four hours than ever before in your 
life. Dead Sea Fruit, my dear. It happens to all of 
us. So we all feel when a radiantly happy moment 
comes to an end. Last night couldn’t go on forever 
you know—had to become only a lovely memory. 
You have been too busy all day long to realize that 
it was all over—but now you have come to the first 
realization—that it has gone. That’s why you feel a 
little—lost!” 

“It is really the longest day of the year, it doesn’t 
only seem so—” Flopsy faltered. 

“Well, it is all over now, the sun has begun to 
sink behind the hills. But cheer up, the longest day 



32 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


of the year is also the first day of summer. And this 
summer holds many bright promises for you—there 
is so much for you to look forward to. Now, Pd go 
to bed and dream about all the nice things to come—” 
Flopsy was only too grateful to her mother for 
suggesting bed. She kissed her, and Mrs. Moore 
held her warm body close and tight for a moment, 
in sympathetic understanding. Without a word 
Flopsy pulled away and dashed into the house and 
off for bed. 



Chapter Two 

First Visitors at Emerald Lake 

T HE first purchase Flopsy made in the coun¬ 
try store at Emerald Lake was a pad of paper. 
She simply had to write letters, because if 
she didn’t she knew very well she wouldn’t get any. 
It was perfectly awful to walk over to the post office 
and wait in line, only to come away empty handed. 
Getting the mail was the event of the morning. There 
were so many cars and so many people. They came 
from all over, some from the cottages at Emerald 
Lake and others from the small nearby lakes. You’d 
feel so foolish if you couldn’t walk away from the 
post office reading something —even if it were only 
a postal card. 

It was to Alice and Fleurette that she wrote first, 
on that second day at Emerald Lake. She longed to 
write Miss Hilton and Babbie, but it was out of the 
question because she had not heard from them and 
did not know their address in Maine. Her letters 
to Alice and Fleurette were almost identical It was 
a trick she had learned on other vacations—it saved 
so much thinking. Besides, if she thought of some¬ 
thing very funny, it was a perfect shame to only use 
it once. She felt sure Alice and Fleurette would not 
compare notes, as the two girls had no great fondness 
for each other. 


33 


34 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Dear Alice (she began the first letter), 

Well, here we are at Emerald Lake. It is very 
pretty, if you care about scenery. I won’t take the 
trouble to describe it, because I am afraid you’d skip 
it like you do in books. Our cottage is as cute as any¬ 
thing. It is a white and green bungalow. It has three 
bedrooms, a sunporch—that’s where we eat! And a 
sleeping porch—that’s where Dickie and Frankie sleep! 
But I won’t describe it any more, because I hope you 
will see it soon. 

We had a terrible trip coming up here. I thought 
I’d die! Frankie found a puppy the day before we left 
and he yelled bloody murder to take it with us. He 
said he’d stay home all summer alone in the house if 
he couldn’t take it with him. It was quite cute, but it 
was a MUT. Daddy called it Heinze, because he said 
it had fifty-seven varieties in it. You never saw any¬ 
one as stubborn as Frankie. Well, I want to tell you 
that darn mut was a Nuisance. And, I don’t mean 
maybe. We were all piled high with baggage and junk 
in the car. It was so crowded you couldn’t move. And, 
Heinze kept leaping all over—and barking—and pull¬ 
ing at things. He loved to undo strings on bundles. He 
kept licking my face! Whew! And, then what do you 
think—that puppy got car sick. You know what I 
mean, he lost his LUNCH! Wasn’t that dandy? 
That gave Dickie the idea—and he got car sick, too! 
Wasn’t that peachy! And, I nearly got car sick, too. 
And, daddy got as mad as hops. Once when we stopped 
at a gas station to get gas, the man there thought 
Heinze was cute and daddy said “He is yours, my man 
—and a dollar bill goes with him.” Frankie wouldn’t 
get back into the car without Heinze and he started 
to run up the road to go home and daddy had to chase 
him. Daddy carried him back to the car and pushed 
him in. And Frankie yelled worst than ever. Then 
daddy got madder than ever and he turned the car 



FIRST VISITORS 


35 


around and said he was going home. I got awfully 
nervous—he looked as if he meant it. But I guess he 
was only trying to scare Frankie, because all of a 
sudden Frankie stopped yelling. Dickie was another 
nuisance. First he wanted to sit on the front seat with 
daddy and mother, then he wanted to stand up in the 
back with Frankie and me. Once daddy stopped very 
suddenly and Dickie fell down, and he yelled. Mother 
said she was going out of her mind, and she didn’t see 
why she ever thought of going away. But she didn’t 
go—out of her mind I mean— And, I don’t blame 
her in the least. 

The swimming up here is peachy. There is a float 
out in front, and I can swim out to it. It’s quite far 
out. There are hardly any kids here my age, so 
PLEASE come up SOON. And don’t forget to write 
me. You will love it up here, something doing every 
minute. Please write soon. I can hardly wait to hear 
when you are coming. 

Your loving pal, 

Flopsy. 

After she had finished this letter she made a copy 
of it. This second letter began “Dear Fleurette ” 
She addressed two envelopes and put the letters in 
them. Then she went to her mother for stamps. But 
just as soon as the letters were sealed and stamped, she 
got into a panic. Supposing, she had put the wrong 
letter in the wrong envelope? And supposing the 
two girls exchanged them and found that the two 
letters were identical, wouldn’t that make her feel 
nutty? She ripped the envelopes open and discovered 
that she had been quite correct. But she had made 
hash of the envelopes. She tried to get the stamps off, 
but made a more finely minced hash of them than 




36 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


she had of the envelopes. She went back to her 
mother for more stamps. 

“Flopsy, you can be so scattered brained,” Mrs. 
Moore shook her head. “Now, will you please pay 
strict attention to what you are doing? Put Fleu- 
rette’s letter in a new envelope, address it and bring 
it to me. I will stamp it. After that is done, we 
will get to Alice’s. And, by the way when you go 
over to the post office, take Dickie with you, and 
Frankie. They have been begging to go.” 

Flopsy did not protest, for it was better to have 
the boys, small as they were, than no one. Dickie 
always attracted attention with his bright shining 
curls and dimples. Dickie was four and Frankie was 
nearly six. She enjoyed people talking to them. To 
tell the truth she was a little lonely. About half the 
cottages at Emerald Lake were not open—for it was 
a few days before the first of July—the day so many 
began their summer vacations. Besides, Flopsy dis¬ 
covered that everybody seemed to know everybody 
and had been coming for ages and ages to Emerald 
Lake. They did not pay much, if any attention to a 
small girl who promptly got a fiery red and covered 
with freckles. She did not mind in the least taking 
the boys to the post office! 

The walk over to the post office was nearly a mile, 
and Dickie got tired on the way home. Flopsy and 
the two boys sat on some small boulders by the side 
of the road and rested. Dickie’s wild desire to walk 
over in the first place, Flopsy decided, was merely 
to get a lollypop. They all sat still—or rather, with¬ 
out talking, for “still” they were not, for the two 
boys were making a terrific racket sucking and crunch¬ 
ing at their lollypops. The sun beat down upon them. 



FIRST VISITORS 


37 


and upon Flopsy’s face blossomed a new crop of 
freckles. The tender skin on Dickie’s back was 
slowly but surely cooking. 

“I wish,” Flopsy said to herself, and then her 
eyes fell upon a broad patch of clover at her feet. 
She flopped to her knees in its midst, and began 
searching. Perhaps, if she found a four leaf clover, 
her wish would come true. 

“What are you looking for, Flops?” Frankie 
asked. “A snake?” 

“No, I am not.” She was far too engrossed in her 
search to even take time to shiver at this unpleasant 
thought. 

“A hop toad?” Frankie eyed his sister hopefully. 

“I am looking, if you must know it, for a four 
leaf clover. If I find one I can make a wish and it 
will come true—” 

“Will you wish for Heinze to come back?” he 
asked eagerly. 

“I will not —that pesky mut! Oh look, look! 
Here is one. Look Frankie, look Dickie—see—one 
—two—three—four! ” 

“Make a wish!” Dickie yelped with excitement. 

Flopsy held the four leaf clover, above her head 
and eyed it solemnly. She breathed in deeply. Then 
closed her eyes. 

“I wish that some of the people I asked would 
come up today to Emerald Lake.” She opened her 
eyes and looked up and down the road as though 
expecting that her wish would take effect immedi¬ 
ately. However, she noted that four leaf clovers do 
not make prompt deliveries on all occasions. But her 
spirits were high; she felt sure her wish must come 
true and soon. She jumped to her feet, and signaled 



38 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


to her small brothers to come along. She had to 
get ready for her guests. 

“Come on kids, let’s go—” 

The boys jumped up. Frankie was very practical. 
“Who will come? And, when will they come? For 
lunch? And will they go in swimming with us?” 
He plied his sister with questions. 

“You’ll see—just wait—” Flopsy enjoyed this 
little game. 

But in another instant it was not a question of 
seeing anything, so much, as smelling. The sweet 
smell of the fields became suddenly sour and awful . 

“Glory!” Flopsy gasped, and put her fingers to 
her nose. “A skunk! Whew!” 

“Whew!” echoed Frankie, and put his fingers to 
his nose and held on to it. 

“Whew!” re-echoed Dickie. He glanced up at his 
sister and his brother and followed their example 
and held tight to his little button of a nose. 

“Maybe,” Frankie remarked, but still holding on 
to his nose, “that was a tricky four leaf clover, and 
it sent you a skunk instead of people—” 

“It can’t go in swimming with me!” Dickie said 
hotly. He had no idea what a skunk was, except its 
smell, which he most certainly did not care for. 

In another minute they came upon it. For there, 
in the middle of the road, lay a small black and white 
animal with a bushy tail. A passing car had hit it. 
The boys let out yelps of excitement. They were 
torn between a desire to stand and view the “re¬ 
mains” and another to run and get away from the 
smell. 

“Come kids, let’s run—but hold on to your 
noses—” Flopsy broke into a run with her two 



FIRST VISITORS 


39 


small brothers at her heels. “Don’t take your fingers 
off your noses till I say—when—” 

In a few minutes they subsided into a dog trot, 
but the two boys never took their eyes off their 
sister’s face. They were waiting for her to say 
“when.” Flopsy let go her nose—and the boys did 
likewise. 

“Whew, not yet,” and she pinched her nose again. 

“Whew, not yet,” they echoed and re-echoed, and 
likewise pinched their noses. Dickie thought it the 
most exciting game he had played in many a long 
day. 

“Say, ‘when,’ ” he begged. 

Flopsy obliged him. Once again the summer air 
was filled with the fragrance of blossoming fields. 

“When!” she shouted, and her hands dropped to 
her sides. 

“When!” the boys shouted together. Down went 
their hands. 

“Let’s play it again,” Dickie begged. “It was 
fun.” 

“Yes, let’s!” Frankie turned and looked behind 
him. But the skunk was nowhere in sight, a turn 
in the road hid him from view. Dickie was insistent 
that they go back and smell the skunk all over again. 
“And, let’s hold our noses and run.” He darted away 
from Flopsy and started back up the road. She 
caught him and half dragged him along with her 
in the homeward direction. 

“I’ll never, never take you over to the post office 
again if you are going to act so nutty.” Flopsy was 
exasperated. 

“I dropped my lollypop—I want to go and get 
it,” Dickie said. 



40 UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“That little trick doesn’t fool me one bit—you 
just want to see that disgusting old skunk again. 
Besides, you can’t pick up your lollypop out of the 
dust—it’s all covered with dirt.” 

Dickie sulked along with his brother and sister. 
He did not agree with her on two points. He could 
pick up his dusty lollypop, and the skunk wasn’t dis¬ 
gusting—it was fascinating. He made up his mind 
that he would return sometime and get a real look 
at it. 

The boys dashed into their cottage, screaming with 
excitement. They attempted to tell the story of their 
experience, in broken and mixed-up sentences. Mrs. 
Moore stood still, laughing and shaking her head. 
She declined with thanks Frankie’s generous offer 
to lead her back and let her smell the skunk. His 
face fell with disappointment. Dickie was silently 
determined. He would see that skunk again. 

Flopsy went into her room and began putting it 
in apple pie order. She, too, was determined. She 
was going to get her wish. She was going to have 
company. As she busied herself she wondered who 
it would be. 

“Flopsy,” Mrs. Moore called “come out here and 
help me get lunch. Set the table.” 

Flopsy came out of her room, wrinkling up her 
nose as she came. “Oh mother,” she sang out, “it 
hurts terribly to wrinkle my nose, it is terribly sun 
burned.” 

“Then I wouldn’t turn up my nose at anything if I 
were you, that seems the only sensible solution. 
Speaking of sunburn, Dickie’s back is a eight. He is 
going to be very sore by night. We are to have a very 
simple lunch, I am afraid, because—” She did not 




A skunk! They held their noses 















FIRST VISITORS 


43 


finish, but bent her head to watch the car which was 
coming up the roadway in back of the cottage. 

“Why—I wonder if that car is coming here, most 
of the cottages up this road are empty. Goodness, 
I really hope it isn’t coming here. Why the licence 
number is one of those down our way. Goodness 
gracious, it is stopping!” 

Flopsy ran to the window her heart pounding with 
excitement. Yes, the car was stopping. In fact it 
had stopped. A puzzled frown settled on her face. 
It was not Alice’s car, it was not Fleurette’s—and 
Mary did not have a car. 

“It’s Mrs. Green! ” Mrs. Moore gasped in amaze¬ 
ment. “Well, I declare, I wonder how she ever 
found us!” 

Mrs. Moore was surprised, but Flopsy’s surprise 
was more in the nature of a shock. For there, coming 
across the green in back of the cottage, was Mrs. 
Green, behind her Dottie, and behind Dottie—? 

“Margaret Green!” Flopsy stormed. “Who asked 
her, I’d like to know? Well, I won’t speak to her, 
I won’t look at her. I won’t notice her. Of all the 
brass! She can go home. She is a big pest and nui¬ 
sance.” Flopsy was in a towering rage. She turned 
and darted for the front door. 

Mrs. Moore grabbed her by the tie at the back 
of her neck which held her halter waist. 

“Flopsy Moore, tell me at once, did you invite 

Mrs. Green and Dottie here today?” 

“Not today, I didn’t—I just said sometime. But 
I never, never asked Margaret and I don t want 
her.” 

“I’ll push her in the lake for you.” Frankie came 
to Flopsy’s aid. 



44 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Listen to me—at once. You invited Mrs. Green 
and Dottie. You are their hostess and you must act 
a lady. It is not your fault that they picked out a 
day when I planned upon having a very plain lunch, 
but it will be your fault if you make the visit un¬ 
pleasant.” 

“Well, Margaret isn’t a lady to go where she isn’t 
invited. No one wants her here.” 

There was a knock at the back door—everyone 
who came by car always came to the kitchen door 
of the cottage. The front door faced the lake. There 
was no automobile road at the water’s edge. 

Flopsy never moved. She let her mother go to the 
door. She recalled bitterly how satisfied she had 
been that she had refrained from inviting Margaret 
in the first place. As her mother left her she gave 
her a warning look. 

“Take her up by the wasp’s nest and let them all 
bite her.” Frankie was only too happy to please 
Flopsy if it meant an exciting experience for him to 
watch or share. 

“Oh hush up!” Flopsy said crossly. There simply 
was no getting out of it. She could hear Mrs. Green’s 
voice talking in the kitchen. Then Margaret piped 
up in her thin voice. Flopsy made an awful face. 

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise!” Flopsy heard 
her mother say. And she tells me not to tell fibs, 
Flopsy thought darkly. Pleasant surprise indeed! 

“Oh, Flopsy!” Mrs. Moore sang out, exactly as 
though she were out of ear shot. “Mrs. Green and 
Dottie are here—” 

“But you didn’t say Margaret—” Flopsy said to 
herself gloomily. 

Dottie bounced into the living room her round 



FIRST VISITORS 


45 


face all aglow. “Oh Flopsy, Flopsy! I brought my 
bathing suit—just as you said to! And I can stay 
all night, if you want me.” Dottie was bubbling over 
with joy. 

“Hello, Dottie,” Flopsy tried to muster up some 
pleasure. “That’s nice. Did you have your lunch?” 

“No, mother thought we would get here in time. 
Are we late?” 

“No, you are not late. Is that Margaret I hear?” 
Flopsy asked with meaning in her voice. 

“Oh yes, but she’s not going to stay over night, 
mother said, unless you ask her to.” Dottie lowered 
her voice. “You don’t have to ask her, Flopsy, and if 
I were you I wouldn’t. She kicks awfully in bed—” 

“Well,” thought Flopsy, “I’d kick her right back, 
if she tried kicking me.” Something in Dottie’s 
manner softened Flopsy. Evidently Dottie didn’t 
want Margaret to stick around too long. She began to 
cheer up a bit, besides, Dottie’s shining face bright¬ 
ened up the room. It was nice after all to see her. 

From the kitchen, Flopsy could hear Mrs. Green 
talking. “Your child gave us such perfect directions 
we couldn’t get lost. I know it is an imposition to 
come up here so soon, but my husband wanted me to 
look the country over—we may take a cottage for 
August. I made a big chocolate cake and I have 
brought a pot of home made baked beans—” 

Flopsy smiled, a warm sunny smile. The “choco¬ 
late cake” worked magic. But just the same she was 
not going to be too sweet to Margaret and that was 
that! 

“Flopsy!” Mrs. Moore called. “Will you please 
set the table. Then you might take Dottie and 
Margaret down to the lake, I am sure Mrs. Green 




46 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


would be quite satisfied to sit on the porch and just 
look at it.” Mrs. Moore led Mrs. Green and Mar¬ 
garet into the living room. 

Mrs. Green looked about with vast approval. 
“Well, Flopsy you have an attractive cottage—and 
what beautiful country this is! And, my, but you 
are sunburned!” 

Flopsy nodded smilingly. Margaret came towards 
her self-consciously. The small eight year old girl 
looked up into the face of her sister’s friend a little 
uncertainly. From under her arm she pulled out a 
big white box, and poked it at Flopsy, solemnly. 

“Here is a box of candy for you and Frankie and 
Dickie—” 

“Margaret knows you didn’t exactly ask her up 
here, but she was so eager to come—besides, we 
couldn’t very well leave her home alone,” Mrs. 
Green said smilingly. 

Every last bit of Flopsy’s ill humor melted. She 
avoided her mother’s eyes. She did feel just a little 
ashamed of herself. Her brothers let out whoops 
of joy. Mrs. Moore took Mrs. Green out onto the 
wide porch. Flopsy stood still holding the big box 
of candy. 

“That was very, very nice of you, Margaret, and 
we thank you.” 

Margaret blushed with pleasure and gave Flopsy 
a grateful look. Dottie had insisted upon rubbing in 
on her small sister that she had not been invited. 
She turned up her pug nose at Dottie, and with her 
lips shaped a mocking, “See!” Through the screen 
door they could hear Mrs. Green’s exclamations of 
delight. “Oh how lovely, lovely! What a heavenly 
spot. The view through those birches is beautiful. 



FIRST VISITORS 


47 


Yes, indeed I shall be only too happy to sit still and 
just drink it all in—” 

A warm glow of generosity surged over Flopsy. 
She wanted Margaret to be glad she had come to 
Emerald Lake and had brought a big box of candy 
with her. 

“I am awfully glad you came Margaret—you will 
love it here,” she put her arm across Margaret’s 
shoulder. She turned to the others, “Come on kids, 
watch me set this table, I am good at it, I hardly ever 
break a dish.” She was swaggering about now, quite 
intoxicated with the joy of having guests at her 
summer cottage. However, she didn’t lose her head 
enough to let go that box of candy—it had to be 
guarded from the boys until after lunch. They 
were eyeing it greedily. A noisy hubbub followed her 
invitation to watch her set the table. Dickie tried to 
shout every one down. 

“Oh Margaret, come and smell the skunk—it 
smells awful,” he yelled, but no one paid any atten¬ 
tion to him. They were too hilarious. Mrs. Moore 
came into the sun parlor and gave a few directions. 
Two were to be placed on one side of the table, three 
on the other, Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Green at each 
end. Dottie was at Flopsy’s heels every second, pay¬ 
ing Flopsy compliments which were music in her 
ears. Dottie thought her sunburn was wonderful. 
She simply adored freckles—she thought they were 
precious. She stared in open eyed wonder, when she 
heard how far Flopsy could swim. She chattered and 
chattered like a magpie as Flopsy ran hither and 
thither getting dishes for the table, and laying them 
down in a way that appeared very perilous. Flopsy 
never bothered to answer Dottie’s string of questions, 



48 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


she just bobbed her head up and down or shook it 
from side to side. 

“Did you get a letter from Babbie? Did you know 
that Alice Holt had two aunts who lived not far from 
Emerald Lake? Did she tell you that Janet was 
going to boarding school in the fall? Can you dive? 
When is Miss Hilton going to get married?” 

“Now, children—” Mrs. Moore surveyed the 
table “now that is done, scoot, fly! Out from under 
my feet while I get lunch.” 

Flopsy thrust the box of candy into her mother’s 
hands, with a warning whisper “Hide it.” Then 
scoot they all did! They raced single file down the 
narrow winding path through the birches to the 
lake. Flopsy was leading—and was shouting as she 
ran. She could not talk, she had to shout. Once on 
the small dock, she continued shouting, but now like 
a barker in a circus. 

“Ladies and gentlemen this way, this way to see 
our canoe, our row boat! Emerald Lake! Like a 
rare emerald gem it is! Three and a half miles long, 
a half mile wide out here in front. To the right it’s 
nearly a mile wide. The great swimmer Flora Moore 
will swim across this lake some day soon, but she’s 
too smart to pick the widest part of the lake. No, 
siree, she takes short cuts. Only dopes take the long¬ 
est hardest way—Now, friends cast your eyes to the 
left. There is a beautiful sandy beach where the folks 
from Emerald Lake may be seen every afternoon 
for bathing—There, is the celebrated float! See, 
see, the great Flora swim out to it this afternoon—” 

“And, there’s a skunk—way up there—and he 
smells awful!” Dickie yelled louder than Flopsy 
was shouting. 



FIRST VISITORS 


49 


“Let’s see it,” Margaret begged. 

“Yes, come on. I’ll show you—” Dickie started 
off the dock. 

“Not now you won’t—you’ll be late for lunch.” 
Flopsy grabbed him. 

“After,” he promised Margaret very solemnly. 

“And, folks,—” Flopsy continued as though un¬ 
interrupted, “in this lake there is superfine fishing. 
Pay your money take your choice bass, perch, pickerel, 
or the lowly sunny.” 

“Where you go in swimming—are there fish?” 
Dottie asked nervously. 

“My, my, fish won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid 
my child.” Flopsy tried to play that she was patron¬ 
izing, but giggled instead. What a scared cat Dottie 
always was! 

“Daddy says bass fight” Frankie bobbed his head 
up and down emphatically. 

“Fight?” Dottie’s toes curled up in her shoes with 
fright. 

“They only fight when they are hooked onto a 
line,” Flopsy explained. “You crazy cat, imagine 
a little bass fighting you!” 

Dottie shivered—she did not care to imagine a 
bass fighting her! 

“Children! Children!” Mrs. Moore sang out. 
“Lunch!” 

Shrieks of joy—and then a wild scramble up that 
path. And, what a lunch it was! Flopsy thought 
her mother had done a miracle and Mrs. Green had 
been a fairy godmother. They ate and ate, and 
laughed and laughed. It was a hilarious meal, and 
everyone left the table, “stuffed” as Frankie said. 
Then Mrs. Moore announced they must wait at least 



50 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


an hour and a half before they went in swimming. 
But she gave in to their begging that they be per¬ 
mitted to get into their bathing suits and lie or play 
on the sand. When the time was up Mrs. Moore 
and Mrs. Green came down to the beach to watch 
them in the water. Flopsy felt very important. 
Dottie said she was simply marvelous, because she 
could swim. Dottie couldn’t swim a stroke and she 
had not forgotten that bass fight. She paddled about 
in the shallow water very gingerly. Flopsy strutted 
out into the lake with all the feeling of importance 
of an Olympic champion. She was pretty thankful, 
that some of the older boys and girls were not about 
today. That “fresh” boy, particularly who asked her 
the day before, just what she called her 'stroke.’ 
Was it, he asked, the breast stroke to swing time? 
Or a jazzed up dog trot paddle? Today she could 
show off to her heart’s content. She walked out as 
far as she could—it shortened the distance to the 
float, and then she began to swim. It was a breast 
stroke she used but every so often she flung one arm 
out of the water, to give the effect, she hoped, of a 
crawl. She hadn’t fooled her audience of the day 
before, but she felt today’s would be properly im¬ 
pressed. But there was one thing she did not know, 
and never knew—whether she could make the float 
or not. She puffed, blew, wheezed, splashed and 
spit out water constantly. And swam very very fast 
making very, very little headway. Today she made 
the float, as she had before, much to her delight 
and more to her surprise. 

When she reached it, she had no wind left to pull 
herself up on the ladder at its side, but hung on to 
it and turned around and waved to those on the 



FIRST VISITORS 


51 


shore. No one seemed to be watching her at this 
triumphant moment. She “yoo-hooed” and to her 
satisfaction, Dottie, Mrs. Green and Mrs. Moore 
waved their hands. Flopsy’s “yoo-hooing” was 
nearly her undoing, for she swallowed so much water 
that she almost choked. She had a few seconds of 
awful panic. She held on to the ladder for dear life. 
After a few minutes, she started back for shore. 

Another thing of which she was never certain, was 
when to attempt standing—for it was frightening to 
try to stand and discover, that the lake might as well 
be bottomless as far as she was concerned. Today she 
decided to take no chances, and perhaps spoil the 
beautiful effect of her performance—so she kept on 
swimming until she was quite near where Frankie 
was standing. She stood, smiling—no one, she felt 
certain could dream what an effort this feat had been. 
She walked up to the shore with a broad grin, and 
stretched out on the sand to wait for the deserved 
compliments. 

“My, Flopsy! You are a swimmer!” Mrs. Green 
looked down upon her admiringly. Flopsy fairly 
purred with satisfaction. Dottie sat down next to 
her, and eyed her with good-natured envy. 

“I wish I could swim like you! But I am so 
afraid.” 

“Well, you won’t ever learn to swim if you are 
afraid—I am perfectly at home in the water,” 
Flopsy bragged. 

Mrs. Moore stood up. “Flopsy, I am taking Mrs. 
Green back to the cottage, I am very sure that she 
would be more comfortable on the porch, than sitting 
here on the sand. Bring the boys back with you. 
Boys!” she called. “Come out of the water and 



52 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


stay on the beach until you come up to the cot¬ 
tage—” 

In a half hour Mrs. Moore called them. They all 
ran pell mell, up the back road, and into the kitchen 
door in their wet bathing suits. There was much 
laughter and noisy confusion getting out of their 
wet things and into dry clothes. When they were 
dressed they discovered to their joy that there was 
a big plate of cookies waiting for them on the kitchen 
table, and the box of candy had been opened. They 
were, as always, ravenously hungry after bathing. 
With delighted whoops they fell upon that plate of 
cookies and nearly cleared it in a few seconds. 

“Where is Dickie?” Mrs. Moore asked, looking 
about. “Isn’t he dressed? Dickie!” she called. But 
there was no answer. She raised her voice. “Dickie! 
Dickie!” she looked puzzled. “Where in the world 
can he be—is he hiding?” 

“He wouldn’t hide long, if he knew we had 
candy,” Flopsy laughed. “Dickie! Candy! 
CAND-Y!” she shouted at the top of her voice. 

But there was no answer. Mrs. Moore was now 
alarmed. “Children, did Dickie come back from the 
beach with you?” she looked from one to the other 
anxiously. 

“He was with Frankie,” Flopsy said. 

“He was running in back of me,” Frankie an¬ 
nounced, in correction. 

Mrs. Moore’s face turned white. “Flopsy run 
down to the beach at once—Frankie you run up the 
road, and call him, call him every minute. Run! 
Run!” Her commands were obeyed with alacrity. 
The summer air was at once filled with shouts of 
Dickie! Dickie! DICKIE! 




FIRST VISITORS 


53 


“Let me get the car—we will find him in a second, 
he can’t have got far,” Mrs. Green begged. 

“Wait—wait—until Flopsy gets back— Oh where 
is he?” Mrs. Moore was now possessed of a cold 
terror. She had no words of reproach because they 
had not watched him more carefully. She was much 
too frightened. Every second seemed endless. Then 
she saw Flopsy returning, on a run—and alone. 
She was signaling with her arms. “Not there! Not 
there!” 

“Perhaps, he went back into the water—” Dottie 
suggested in an awe struck, frightened tone. Dottie 
always thought the worst. 

“No! No!” Mrs. Moore denied in horror. “That 
couldn’t be—” 

Frankie, too, had returned and he also had not seen 
his small brother. 

“What will we do next?” Mrs. Moore was now 
nearly frantic. 

“Please, please Mrs. Moore get into the car—” 
Mrs. Green entreated, and this time she did not 
refuse, and they all made a dash for it. 

“Flopsy, you and Dottie stay here at the cottage 
and keep an eye out for him—please!” 

Margaret and Frankie sat on the back seat. Mar¬ 
garet alone remained calm. She was chewing a choco¬ 
late caramel, and had smeared it all over her face 
and fingers. 

“You know what I think—” then she broke off 
and began licking the chocolate off each finger slowly 
and deliberately. 

No one cared what she thought. She herself got 
bored with licking one finger at a time, so she wiped 
the rest on her play suit. 



54 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Mother,” she repeated. “Mother,” this time 
she was insistent. She wanted her mother to answer 
her. 

“What is it, Margaret?” Mrs. Green turned her 
head, and spoke impatiently. “Please don’t bother 
me with chatter.” 

“Well,” Margaret went on persistently and calmly, 
“I bet I know where Dickie went.” 

“Margaret Green, if you do, for the love of good¬ 
ness, tell us at once!” Mrs. Green snapped. 

Mrs. Moore looked as though she were about to 
faint. 

“Well,” Margaret repeated, as though it were 
all of no great consequence, “I think he went up to 
smell the skunk.” 

“Please, please, let’s turn back and get Flopsy, 
she knows where that skunk is. Oh, she may be 
right. He has talked about it enough,” Mrs. Moore 
begged, and Mrs. Green, without another word, 
backed the car and turned around. They were again 
at the cottage. “Flopsy! Flopsy!” Mrs. Moore 
shouted. 

Flopsy and Dottie made a dash for the car. Flopsy 
was calling, “We haven’t seen him.” Flopsy herself 
was now very frightened. 

“Flopsy, get into the car, and show us where that 
skunk was—Margaret says she thinks he might have 
gone to see it again.” 

Flopsy’s eyes brightened. “The road up to the 
post office. And, I bet that is where he went—” she 
was wild with excitement and hope. 

Mrs. Green drove the car at a higher speed than 
the law allows, or than Mrs. Moore usually liked 
—but what of it? 



FIRST VISITORS 


55 


In no time it seemed—Flopsy let out a yell of joy. 

“There he is! There he is!” 

And there he was coming towards them in his 
bathing suit, trudging along and holding his nose 
as he came. 

Mrs. Green brought the car to a standstill so sud¬ 
denly, that the children fell in a heap on the floor. 
Mrs. Moore was out of the car in a flash and was 
running up the road towards her small son. She 
caught him in her arms, and kissed him a dozen 
times. When she had carried him back to the car— 
they all saw that she had been crying, for her eyes 
were filled with tears. Tears of pure joy, they were. 

The first thing Dickie said was, “Come on Mar¬ 
garet and see the skunk! It smells—AWFUL!” 

“Well,” Mrs. Moore said as she turned her head 
once they were back in the car and homeward bound, 
“well, Margaret, I am very happy and thankful that 
you came up to Emerald Lake today. You were the 
only one who kept her head and used it. Goodness 
knows when we would have found him. And, the 
cars race along that road—” she shivered at the 
thought. “And, I never thought of the post office 
road—” 

Margaret smirked complacently, but said nothing. 
But she quite blew up with pride when Flopsy hugged 
her and said, “Gee, Margaret am I GLAD! I’ll say 
I am—” and she meant it from the bottom of her 
heart. 



Chapter Three 

More Visitors at Emerald Lake 

W HEN Dottie said goodbye to her mother 
that evening as she left for home, one 
would have thought it was a farewell that 
might be for years—and it might be forever! She 
threw her arms about Mrs. Green’s neck, and kissed 
her over and over. Her round face was positively 
tragic as her mother put the car into gear and closed 
the door. She stood still looking after the departing 
automobile, with the tears streaming down her face. 

“I never stayed away from mother all night before 
in my whole life—and now I won’t see her for three 
days and three nights.” She swallowed a few hot 
tears, and her voice trembled ominously. 

Mrs. Moore eyed her in alarm, she fully expected 
at any moment to have her break into loud lamenta¬ 
tions. <( This —is going to be a picnic—I don’t think.” 
she reflected to herself. But aloud she spoke in a 
quiet matter of fact way, “Flopsy, why don’t you 
take Dottie out in the rowboat, you can have it now 
and daddy will want it after dinner for fishing.” 

But Mrs. Moore did not get the result that she 
hoped. Dottie turned white—and she sputtered, 
“NO! NO!” She shook her head violently to em¬ 
phasize her protest. 

Flopsy was thoroughly annoyed at her friend’s 
terror. It was a reflection on her skill as an oarsman, 

56 


MORE VISITORS 


57 


she knew very well. Just because once she had taken 
Dottie and three others of her classmates out in a 
rowboat at a school picnic, and just because she had 
not been able to row fast with five people in the 
boat—was no reason she couldn’t do very well with 
only one passenger! She had been practising for 
two days. 

“Oh goodness, Dottie, I can row now! I row like 
a whizz!” 

Dottie shivered. 

“Please Flopsy, I don’t want to whizz in a row¬ 
boat.” To Dottie whizzing in a rowboat was even 
more appalling than creeping along. 

“Let’s sit on the dock and fish for sunnies.” 
Flopsy’s mouth shut like a trap. Dottie was begin¬ 
ning to try her patience. 

“I don’t like to fish—excuse me Flopsy.” Dottie 
spoke falteringly. She was almost afraid to protest. 
She sensed the fact that Flopsy was feeling very 
superior—and that she thought her a scared cat. 

“Well, how about taking a walk,” Flopsy said 
with a great show of condescending good humor. 

“We can see little rabbits, and chipmunks, and 
snakes,” Frankie put in as an inducement. 

“Don’t faint,” Flopsy almost snapped, as Dottie’s 
woe begone expression changed to acute terror. “We 
hardly ever see a snake—and they are harmless— 
only little garter snakes.” 

Mrs. Moore felt that it was time for her to take 
a hand. She didn’t want an unconscious child on her 
hands. 

“Why don’t you swing—in that fine swing under 
the apple tree?” she smiled beguilingly at Dottie. 
Almost all children loved swings. She hoped fer- 



58 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


vently that Dottie was not going to be the exception. 

Dottie nodded doubtfully. She had not the courage 
nor strength to protest. 

They put Dottie on the seat first and Flopsy pulled 
it back as far as she could and then gave it a violent 
push. Dottie let out one long shrill wail. Mrs. 
Moore made a wild dash for the apple tree, her 
heart in her mouth. 

“Merciful heavens!” she gasped. 

Flopsy had managed to grab Dottie and stop the 
swing. Dottie tumbled off the seat onto her head in 
the grass and lay in a heap. 

“It’s worse than an elevator, and I hate elevators 
when they go down.” Dottie sat up, and looked be¬ 
seechingly at Flopsy. “I think I’d like to sit on the 
porch.” 

They sat on the porch. There was apparently 
nothing else they could do. 

Mr. Moore arrived a short time later, and managed 
by his presence to create a new atmosphere. He had 
brought Mr. Forbes along with him for a few hours 
of fishing. Mr. Forbes, Flopsy thought looked very 
much like Santa Claus—without any whiskers. His 
face was very ruddy and he was short and fat—and 
his hair was snowy white. By some chance though 
he did not look old, for like Santa Claus, he was too 
jolly and hearty to be an old man. 

He chucked Flopsy under the chin, then patted her 
on the head, in a manner curiously like the Santa 
Claus in a department store, promising a child a 
present. “Next time, my child, I’ll bring Bill 
along—” he assured her. 

“Bill’s no present to anyone,” Flopsy thought 
scornfully. 



MORE VISITORS 


59 


After dinner Flopsy did tempt Dottie down on 
the dock. She persuaded her that the men would 
do their fishing, yards and yards away—most likely 
on the far side of the lake. 

The sun was setting brilliantly. The glory was re¬ 
flected in the water, in the sky, over the hills—every¬ 
where in sight—but on Dottie’s face. She looked 
plaintively ahead of her in gloomy silence. She 
wanted to go home. She longed desperately for her 
mother. 

“Margaret was very nice today.” Flopsy tried 
to cheer her, and at the same time make up to her 
for the mean thoughts she had had about her young 
sister. 

“Oh, yes, today she was nice.” Dottie sighed. 
“But she’s so fresh sometimes. She pulls and pushes 
me around like everything.” 

“Do you take it from her and let her get away 
with it?” Flopsy’s voice was scornful. 

“All I can do is to keep yelling until mother hears 
me and then comes and catches her. Then mother 
scolds her.” Dottie spoke dejectedly. “I never was 
away from mother before—” she added with deepen¬ 
ing gloom. 

Now, Flopsy sighed. 

Bed time came none too soon for Flopsy that 
night. She had never before had an overnight guest, 
and she had heard it was lots of fun—one never slept 
—but talked and laughed until dawn. They were 
to stay awake most of the night but they did precious 
little laughing. Both of the girls were badly sun¬ 
burned—especially on their backs. They had to lie 
on their faces—and at first they giggled a bit over 
it—but it was too painful to bring forth much laugh- 






60 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


ter. Suddenly Dottie pinched Flopsy’s sunburned 
arm. 

“What’s that?” she squealed weakly. “That scary 
noise?” 

“Oh— that! Those are bullfrogs down in the 
cove—” Flopsy answered a little sharply. “Now 
don’t get frightened! They can’t come up here.” 

Dottie shivered and groaned. She hated those bull¬ 
frogs. She pulled the sheet over her head. They 
sounded—all those bullfrogs like the voices of a 
hundred kinds of doom. After awhile the two girls 
drifted off into sleep. Flopsy was awakened some 
time later by Dottie’s “patting” her face briskly. 
“Patting” was what Dottie called it—slapping, was 
what Flopsy called it at a later date, when she 
described the scene. Dottie was sitting up in bed, 
and she was shivering so, that the whole bed rattled. 
Flopsy at once sat up herself. 

“What is it—what is it?” she sputtered, only half 
awake. 

“Listen! Listen!—the bullfrogs came out of the 
cove—they are in the next room—all of them!” 
Dottie’s teeth chattered. 

Flopsy listened—now thoroughly awake. To her 
horror it was so! There must be bullfrogs in the 
next room. Bullfrogs croaking in the cove were 
right and natural—but in a bedroom? Oh no—it 
was more like a nightmare. Flopsy sprang out of 
bed, with Dottie at her heels. She made a dash 
for her door, screaming, “Mother! Mother! 
MOTHER!” Each “mother” was more shrill and 
penetrating than the last. The air of the summer 
night was filled with strange discordant sounds— 
bullfrogs in the cove—bullfrogs in the cottage, the 




MORE VISITORS 


61 


screams of two frightened girls—and then Mr. 
Moore’s bass voice shouting, “Jumping Jupiter, 
what’s up? Holy cats, what’s broken loose?” 

Mrs. Moore was out of her bed in an instant, 
“Flopsy, Flopsy, what is it?” she called in alarm. 

“Mother, mother—there’s a bullfrog in the com¬ 
pany room.” 

“Keep still, Flopsy!” Mrs. Moore ordered sharply. 
“Listen.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Moore and the two girls were 
now assembled in the living room. They all stood 
still for a few tense seconds, listening. It was no 
bad dream after all—there was a weird noise com¬ 
ing from the company room. They all heard it. It 
did sound like a bullfrog echoing his friends down 
in the cove. 

Mr. Moore put his head back and shouted with 
laughter. He roared and sputtered, and made enough 
noise to drown out all other sounds. What could 
be so funny? His companions stood blinking in 
amazement. 

“A bulljrogy my eye! That’s just Mr. Forbes snor¬ 
ing—” he sputtered. “That’s a good one!” he ha- 
haed all over again. There was no telling how long 
he might have laughed if a shriek more ear pierc¬ 
ing than any sound which preceded it, seemed to 
rip the roof off the cottage. Mr. Moore stopped 
laughing abruptly. The small gathering in the living 
room stood rooted to the floor their faces blank 
with dismay—or horror. What was it now? Then 
another shriek even more penetrating than the last 
rent the air. 

“My — back — hurts —” came a clear and definite 
cry of distress. 



62 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Dickie!” Mr. Moore announced grimly. “An¬ 
other county heard from. Now> we are in for it. 
We are sunk.” 

Mrs. Moore groaned. “We have awakened him. 
He is terribly sunburned. Now for a lovely restful 
night. Girls, go back to bed—put the bedclothes 
over your heads if you want to shut out the noise. 
I must get the ointment.” 

At first, Dottie didn’t mind the uproar—it was 
more comforting to have everyone up and awake 
than to lie there in bed hearing strange unfamiliar 
sounds. The two girls giggled at first as they tried 
shutting out Dickie’s shrieks, for they never ceased 
any longer than for him to catch his breath, but 
then they gave up trying. Frankie woke with a 
roar of annoyance. “Keep— quiet!” he shouted. 

Dottie and Flopsy sat right up in bed and held a 
conversation as though it were the middle of the 
day. They grew used to the din, which had been 
farther complicated by Frankie’s general denuncia¬ 
tions. Flopsy told Dottie that she fully expected to 
be invited, before the summer was out, to Miss 
Hilton’s ranch in Rawhide. Dottie was properly 
impressed. She asked a series of questions—all of 
which Flopsy answered at great length. Dickie had 
suddenly ceased screaming, and Flopsy almost as 
suddenly dropped off to sleep. She had not real¬ 
ized it but she had been talking to herself for fifteen 
minutes. Dottie had been lulled to sleep by her 
chatter. They had only been asleep a short time it 
seemed, when they were awakened by Mr. Forbes’s 
hearty laugh. The sun was streaming into their 
room, and Flopsy sleepily glanced at her clock—it 
was five o’clock! 



MORE VISITORS 


63 


“My, I feel fine! What a night’s sleep! I slept 
like a top—now all I need is an hour or so of fish¬ 
ing before I go back into town,” Mr. Forbes’s voice 
boomed through the cottage. 

A top? Well, thought Flopsy, Dickie did have 
a top once that sang and hummed—but it was a 
great deal more musical than Mr. Forbes’s “top”- 
like manner of sleeping! 

Dottie was wide awake and her eyes were very 
bright. “Flopsy, you know—what? Well, I could go 
down to town this morning with your daddy and 
Mr. Forbes. I just thought of it. Wouldn’t that be 
a good idea?” 

And no one urged Dottie to stay longer or 
change her mind. Mrs. Moore looked too tired 
even to speed the parting guest. Flopsy was almost 
as delighted to have her go as she had been glad 
to see her in the first place. 

“I had a lovely time, Flopsy.” Dottie’s round 
face was beaming. Not once in her whole visit had 
she been so radiant. She sat fully a half hour in the 
back seat of the Moore’s car, waiting for the two 
men to get started. She was feverishly excited and 
half afraid that she might by accident be left behind. 

“Good-bye, good-bye—good-bye—and thank you 
so much! GOOD-BYE!” The “good-byes,” seemed 
to fill Dottie’s cup of joy to the brim. They were the 
only things she had done gladly and happily since 
her mother had left her the night before. 

The next week flew. Flopsy never could figure 
out where it went! No more of her friends had 
come up to Emerald Lake, but there had been no 
end of company at the cottage. Mrs. Moore’s friends 





64 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


had just “dropped in” at any old time—and had 
stayed for hours—and many meals! Mr. Forbes 
had been up several times to go fishing, and each 
time he had come, he had patted Flopsy’s head and 
jovially promised to bring Bill the next time—just 
as though Bill were the one person in all the world 
she most wanted to see. 

Now she walked sometimes to the post office with 
Diana Dean. She thought Diana was simply won¬ 
derful. In the first place she decided that “Diana” 
was the most beautiful name she had ever heard, 
and secondly Diana was the most gorgeous girl she 
had ever seen outside of the movies. Diana was 
fifteen. It gave Flopsy a twinge of envy to notice 
that the sun had been as kind to Diana, as it had 
been mean to her. Diana’s skin was a lovely rich 
golden brown, a brown that made her hair look 
like spun gold in contrast—and her eyes as blue as 
the sky. Her teeth were dazzlingly white against 
the color of her face. 

The envy that Flopsy felt did not disturb her 
peace of mind, or detract any from the great pleas¬ 
ure that she had from being with her. She did not 
tell herself that Diana walked over to the post office 
with her for the same reason that she had taken 
Dickie and Frankie those first few days—because at 
the moment she couldn’t find any one better. In 
the afternoon when they were out on the float dur¬ 
ing the swimming hour, Diana never noticed her at 
all but chattered and fooled with the big boys of 
eighteen—or sixteen. 

Flopsy listened fascinated and spellbound. She 
longed with all her heart to be fifteen—and as 
bright and as “cute” as Diana. The two years be- 



MORE VISITORS 


65 


tween them in age seemed like a vast stretch of 
time. Fifteen was ages and ages removed from thir¬ 
teen. 

Diana went to a private school, she had never been 
inside a public school in her life. Flopsy proudly 
boasted of Janet Dudley who was going to a private 
school in the fall. 

“What school?” Diana asked as though it were of 
great importance. Flopsy had to admit that she had 
no idea, and in admitting it felt foolish and just 
as though she had made Janet up out of her head. 
She wished Janet would come up to the lake, for she 
felt Diana would have to be impressed. Sometimes, 
she thought Diana looked down upon her as only a 
redhaired, freckled faced kid. Janet’s being her 
friend would give her some reflected glory. 

One morning, just after she had come home from 
the post office and had parted with Diana, she sat 
on her porch swing, feeling very lonely and dis¬ 
gusted. Diana had had four long letters that morn¬ 
ing, and she had read them all the way home after 
asking “You don’t mind, do you?” She had taken 
it for granted that she had not minded. But Flopsy 
had minded very much, for Diana had giggled over 
her mail and paid her scant attention. She was now 
deciding that it was about time that she heard from 
Miss Hilton or Babbie. They had said they would 
write in a few weeks—and it was a few weeks. The 
chances of being invited to the ranch seemed to be 
growing very slim. Besides, she was hopping mad 
—furious, at Alice and Fleurette—her best friends, 
because they had not answered her very funny (so 
she thought) letter. 

After these gloomy reflections, she stood up, and 




66 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


started to walk down to the dock. She would 
take the canoe out, for she was now permitted to 
use it on a quiet day, as she had made tremendous 
strides in her swimming this last week. She had 
just started down the winding path to the lake when 
she heard a car coming up the back road, and idly 
stood watching it—it was a big car driven by a liv¬ 
eried chauffeur. He was driving very slowly and 
apparently not sure where he was going for he 
leaned out his window and looked this way and that. 
Flopsy took a few steps forward—for there was 
nothing that she enjoyed more than giving any kind 
of directions—even when she was not in the least 
sure whether she was right or wrong. 

“Flopsy! Flopsy!” a girl’s voice shouted from 
the car. Some one on the back seat was waving 
wildly to her. Then, she saw Janet Dudley’s face 
—all smiles. In another second Janet was out of the 
car and running towards her. 

“Oh, Janet!” she shouted in delight and flew to 
her friend. The two girls hugged each other rap¬ 
turously. 

“Oh, Flopsy, I can stay nearly all day. I’ve 
brought my bathing suit. Mother’s playing golf 
and Nick—” nodding her head towards the chauf¬ 
feur, “is coming back for me and if your mother 
will let you, we want you to come over to the hotel 
this evening and have dinner with us. It’s not far 
and we will bring you back—” Janet was quite 
breathless with excitement. 

Flopsy was in seventh heaven. Janet looked lovely . 
She seemed a whole year older than when Flopsy 
had seen her last—only a few weeks before. Per¬ 
haps it was because Janet had just had a birthday 



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67 


and was now fourteen. Diana wouldn’t dare treat 
her like a kid, she felt sure. She was eager to show 
Janet off, as soon as possible. 

After Nick had driven away the two girls walked 
with their arms about each other towards the cot¬ 
tage. 

“My, but you are freckled! And sunburned!” 
Janet laughed. She laughed kindly, and without 
ridicule. Diana always laughed at her freckles in 
a way that Flopsy did not enjoy at all. 

“Oh, I never get a decent respectable tan like 
other people—I get just like a boiled lobster.” 
Flopsy grinned. “Oh, I am so glad you came early 
—you are in plenty of time for lunch. Tell me, 
have you se^n Alice Holt lately—I am just ripping 
at her she never answered my letter—” She did 
not ask about Fleurette, because Fleurette and Janet 
had no warm feeling for the other. 

“One day, I invited her over for luncheon. She 
said she had a letter from you and it was a perfect 
scream, she nearly rolled over laughing at it. (Flopsy 
puffed up with satisfaction.) But, I’ve hardly been 
home at all lately—we have been here, there and 
everywhere. Oh, wasn’t that an awful picture of you 
in the newspaper?” Janet laughed. “I bet you boiled 
up.” 

“We were going to sue that darn old paper—but 
we didn’t have time before we went away.” Flopsy 
was none too pleased at the thought of Janet’s see¬ 
ing that picture. Janet of all people! 

“You goose! How could you sue them?” Janet 
laughed again, and there was something a little su¬ 
perior in her laugh, which nettled Flopsy. 

“Well, the reporter must have stolen that picture 




68 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


—and stealing is against the law.” Nettled though 
she was at Janet’s manner she also was feeling very 
important discussing her newspaper experience. 

“Oh, Flopsy, you are so funny! You say such 
crazy things. I am always telling my mother about 
you. I bet you make her laugh tonight. But some¬ 
times you get mad when people laugh at you and 
sometimes you love it. Now, don’t get mad, if 
mother laughs—” 

Flopsy was not at this very moment sure whether 
to laugh—or get mad. Well, she was glad to see 
Janet and Janet was her guest, so she decided it 
would be more hospitable to laugh, which she did 
in a forced fashion. She was leading Janet to the 
front door of the cottage. It was nicer to walk into 
the living room, than through the kitchen. Espe¬ 
cially with people like Janet. 

“Your cottage is adorable,” Janet commented 
generously. “It’s like a doll house. I love it.” 

Flopsy gave her friend a swift sidelong glance. 
She wanted to be sure of Janet’s expression when 
she called her cottage a doll’s house. She might 
mean it as a compliment, or she might mean that the 
cottage was very small. Evidently Janet meant it 
as a compliment, so Flopsy smiled. 

“It is little but it is cute, I think,” Flopsy said. 
“I wish you could stay over night—we have a com¬ 
pany room.” This, was to let Janet know that they 
had an extra room, and that small though the cot¬ 
tage might be, it was not cramped. 

At the first opportunity Flopsy cornered her 
mother. There was a burning question she must 
ask her. Was there anything especially nice in the 
house for lunch? Janet could not be treated to a 




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69 


picnic lunch—when she had just invited her to a 
hotel for dinner. 

“Flopsy, I’ve learned from painful experience 
these last few weeks to be prepared for company 
at any hour or at any meal. Don’t worry.” Mrs. 
Moore sighed faintly. “Oh dear, I must have daddy 
find me some one over in the village to help me 
get meals—for this is not exactly my idea of a vaca¬ 
tion. But—” she hastened, “I am very glad you 
have Janet with you today—” 

Flopsy’s heart leaped with joy. Here was some¬ 
thing to parade before Janet at once. 

“We haven’t a maid now, but we are going to get 
one at once.” Flopsy spoke just as she had heard her 
mother’s friends do, when they were playing bridge. 
It was very effective and impressive, she felt. 

Janet proved to be a very different guest than 
Dottie. She was not afraid of anything particularly— 
but she did not want to go out in the boats. Row¬ 
boats were too pokey, and she, like Dottie, remem¬ 
bered only too well the experience at the school 
picnic. 

Suddenly Flopsy remembered that she had not 
wanted Janet to come up to the lake until she had 
learned to make a beautiful dive. This was a dis¬ 
appointing thought. She had not dared to dive at 
all—there had been too many people around to 
laugh if she had taken an awful flop. But she could 
swim out to the float now, with ease and without 
puffing and blowing out water. And, she could 
climb up on the ladder and sit with the other boys 
and girls. She was now managing a side stroke 
—but it was still nothing to brag about—especially 
to any one like Janet or Diana. 



70 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


That afternoon Flopsy escorted Janet to the beach 
—as proud in her strut as any peacock. Janet had 
a very smart bathing suit—the kind one saw in the 
newspapers and magazines. When they reached the 
beach they found Diana alone. She was lying on her 
face, sunning her back. 

“Hi—there! Hello, Di-ana!” Flopsy shouted 
gaily. 

Diana rolled over and then sat up. Flopsy saw 
at once that she was impressed by Janet’s appearance. 
She was delighted. 



“Diana Dean I want you to meet my friend, 
Janet Dudley.” Flopsy was breathless with excite¬ 
ment. “I’ve told you about her lots of times. She’s 
the girl who is going to private school in the fall.” 

“Hello there, Janet Dudley!” Diana grinned 
broadly. Yes, she was impressed with Janet. “What’s 
the school—Flora didn’t know?” 

“The Ardsley School—” Janet smiled and threw 
herself on the sand beside Diana. She lay on her 
stomach with her head propped on her hands. “Do 
you know it?” 




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Diana copied Janet’s pose and smiled into her 
face. Both girls ignored Flopsy. 

“Do—I—know it? I’ll say!” Diana laughed. 
“My aunts all went there. Funny, Flora couldn’t 
remember the name it is so well known—” 

“I never heard it—” Flopsy put in—but they 
paid no attention to her. “Janet never told me it 
was the Ardsley School.” 

“Flora!” Janet repeated after Diana, with a 
gurgling laugh. “Do you call her that? No one 
does! ” 

“I can’t make out what on earth her brothers call 
her. Floppy or woppy or something dizzy. And, 
anyway I always do politely what I am told to—I 
was told to call her Flora.” 

“Flopsy ” Janet spoke with emphasis. “That is her 
name except in school—and thank goodness, we 
are not in school now—” Janet buried her head in 
her elbows and lay with the sun beating down on 
her back. 

“Flopsy!” Diana echoed and burst out laugh¬ 
ing. “For Pete’s sake!” 

Flopsy sat staring at the two girls with her eyes 
round, and her lips parted. She wished the girls 
would not discuss her as though she were nothing 
but a bunch of air. They were not paying the slight¬ 
est attention to her. 

“Golly, this sun is hot—come on, let’s get go¬ 
ing!” Diana jumped to her feet and dashed for 
the water and plunged in. She struck out with a 
powerful crawl—more like that of a boy than of a 
girl. Janet was at her heels. Flopsy stood staring 
after them, suddenly feeling strange and lost. Janet 
did not have the same powerful stroke that Diana 



72 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


had, but she too swam with a crawl stroke, easily, 
gracefully, and swiftly. In a few seconds the two 
girls were sitting on the float sunning themselves. 

“Hi there, Flopsy!” Diana shouted with a laugh. 
“Come on in—don’t be a landlubber.” She turned 
to Janet and lowered her voice. “You should see 
your Flopsy swim! She’s a scream—we have had 
more darn fun watching her!” 

The air that summer afternoon was as clear as a 
bell and although Diana lowered her voice, these 
words came to Flopsy clearly and distinctly. She 
was deeply mortified. And more—she was hurt to 
the quick. But she was not going to let those girls 
know it—if she could help it. If they got any 
amusement out of laughing at her—she would set 
to work and make them laugh. She wished with a 
pang that she could swim the way they did. She 
wanted so much to share their fun this afternoon, 
on the same level—in the same way. She went into 
the water with a shout: 

“Now girls, wait for me! You ain’t seen nothing 
till you have seen me swim—” she made her swim¬ 
ming as silly as she could. She heard their shouts 
of laughter. By the time, however, she reached the 
float, she discovered to her keen disappointment that 
they were no longer watching her—they were div¬ 
ing. They were not even as much as laughing at her! 
Neat, smart dives they made, too—without any ef¬ 
fort or any attempt to show off. She sat on the float 
and watched them. She felt lonely. Strange too, 
because she now had two pals with her. At last 
the two girls were again sunning themselves. Flopsy 
decided to direct the conversation herself, but Janet 
managed to speak first. 






MORE VISITORS 


73 


“Where do you play tennis up here?” Janet asked 
idly. 

“/ play up at our private court. Come up if you 
care to—it is the only court at the lake,” Diana 
answered. 

“You haven’t a spring board for diving?” Janet 
ventured. 

“We have— not! And, this float is as old as the 
hills—it was made years and years ago. It’s only 
a glorified raft,” Diana complained. She wondered 
just how Flopsy was taking this because she knew that 
she thought the float was “marvelous.” 

“Do you like Emerald Lake?” Janet asked 
quickly. Something in Diana’s tone made her won¬ 
der. 

“I am simply fed up on it. I am bored to tears 
with it. We have been coming here since I was a 
baby. Mother likes it—but I hate it. I want to go 
to a big hotel at the shore. There is nothing to do 
here.” 

Flopsy looked up and down the lovely lake. Her 
eyes were moist. She felt hurt. She thought every¬ 
thing was “wonderful.” She turned her head away 
so that the girls would not see her expression. 

“I never saw you so quiet—Freckles!” Diana 
said suddenly. “I think ‘Freckles’ is a much better 
nickname for you than—Flopsy.” 

“Oh, she never has any freckles in the winter. 
Only a few cute little ones on her nose,” Janet cor¬ 
rected very sweetly. 

Flopsy sprang up and without a word jumped 
feet first into the water with a big splash. As she 
went down, down she didn’t care much if she ever 
came to the surface again. Not until she hit the bot- 






74 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


tom, did she think perhaps it would be preferable if 
she did try to get to the top. Janet’s few words 
of praise had been too much for her. She had al¬ 
most felt like crying before Janet had uttered them 
—and now she was crying. As she came to the sur¬ 
face her eyes were filled with tears, but no one 
would have guessed it—for her whole face was too 
wet. She did not intend to have the girls know how 
she felt. As she struck out for the shore, she heard 
Diana say, “It’s dumber than ever today—for the 
boys got it into their crazy heads to take an all day 
hike. I wish they were here—they’d like you.” 

Flopsy didn’t want to listen to them another min¬ 
ute, for all of her they could stay out on the float 
for the rest of their lives. When she reached the 
beach she sat down and forlornly shaped little piles 
of sand between her two hands. Her mind was not 
on what she was doing. Over and over she made 
her little mounds of sand and absent-mindedly 
pushed them over—this performance went on for 
nearly half an hour. She never once looked up— 
nor did the two girls out on the float pay her the 
least attention. 

She never quite came out of her gloom until she 
got into her new white linen dress. It was a pretty 
dress, tailored and with a dark blue sailor collar. 
She cheered at the thought of riding in a car driven 
by a chauffeur. Janet, strange to say, had not no¬ 
ticed at all how quiet Flopsy had been—she was 
far too taken up with her own thoughts. She had 
enjoyed talking with Diana very much. 

“Flopsy, you must take a wrap—you know how 
cold it gets as soon as the sun goes down, especially 
riding in a car,” her mother warned. 



MORE VISITORS 


IS 


Flopsy protested at first but gave in, she was still 
too listless to put up a prolonged argument. The 
sound of the approaching car too, decided her. She 
must do as she was told, and hurry, for she did not 
want to be late. Janet was at this minute thanking 
Mrs. Moore very prettily for her hospitality. Mrs. 
Moore fervently hoped that Flopsy’s manner’s 
would be as charming as Janet’s. 

“You look very sweet,” Mrs. Moore whispered 
into her daughter’s ear. “And if you are only half 
as good as you look, I will be happy.” 

Most of the way to the hotel Janet chattered about 
Diana. Flopsy squirmed—she did not want to hear 
Diana mentioned—ever! Quite suddenly the sun 
went behind a heavy black cloud and the air became 
very chilly. Flopsy did not even find that her wrap 
was sufficient. Janet ordered Nick to close the win¬ 
dows. The two girls shivered and giggled the rest 
of the way. It was positively cold when they reached 
the hotel—cold and bleak and very unlike. a sum¬ 
mer day. Flopsy felt out of place in her white dress 
for everyone at the hotel seemed to have got into 
heavy sport clothes and sweater dresses. 

Flopsy had never been able to make up her mind 
whether she liked Mrs. Dudley or not. Mrs. Dud¬ 
ley was always very, very sweet, and very, very 
polite. But what was it that made one uncertain? 
Flopsy knew she was never altogether comfortable 
and at ease in her presence. Her eyes were so black 
and they seemed to go right straight through you. 
Today she wondered when Mrs. Dudley came to 
meet them, if she could see the little brass safety pin 
on the strap of her slip? It had given away at the 
last minute, and she had had to pin it. 



76 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“My, you children looked chilled through— 
frozen, especially you, Flopsy,” was the first thing 
Mrs. Dudley said. This, Flopsy felt was some kind 
of criticism. She shouldn’t have looked “frozen.” 

For a long, long time afterwards Flopsy would 
shiver—but not with cold, when she looked back upon 
that dinner at the hotel. She never deliberately re¬ 
called it. And, it was not for many months that she 
mentioned it to her mother. 

The waiter had laid a cup before her. She looked 
at it in great surprise. She thought it was very funny 
to be given a cup of coffee first of all. Besides, she 
was rarely permitted to take coffee. She leaned over 
and put two lumps of sugar in it—and then looked 
about—there was no cream on the table. She stirred 
her “coffee” and wondered if she should ask for 
cream. Mrs. Dudley was taking her “coffee” without 
cream apparently. She sat staring at her cup curi¬ 
ously—it was a very funny cup—it had two handles. 

“Go ahead, Flopsy, take it—it will warm you up. 
And do excuse me if you don’t like my calling you 
‘Flopsy.’ That is all Janet ever calls you.” Mrs. Dud¬ 
ley smiled that smile of hers that made Flopsy so 
uncertain. She took a sip of her “coffee” j it tasted 
very, very peculiar. So she leaned over and put an¬ 
other lump of sugar in it. 

“Why, my dear,” Mrs. Dudley exclaimed, “do 
you like sugar in your bouillon? You funny child!” 

“My—?” Flopsy’s face went blank. “My—?” 
she repeated. “Why, I thought it was—coffee—” 
she gasped. 

“The first thing on the—?” Mrs. Dudley started 
to ask a question. She looked decidedly surprised. 
Then she smiled. She was making an effort to keep 




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77 


from laughing. “I will have the waiter bring you 
another cup—you couldn’t like that. Not possibly.” 

At that moment Flopsy did not need anything 
to warm her up, for she was fairly burning up with 
mortification. She had never seen a bouillon cup 
before—they had soup plates in her house. She felt 
as though she had made some hideous mistake. She 
eyed Janet coldly and envied her. Envied her— 
and did not like her. Janet was looking so amused. 
She wished with all her heart that she was back at 
the cottage at that very minute eating a noisy con¬ 
fused and almost always happy meal with her two 
small brothers and her parents. 

Mrs. Moore was bewildered when Flopsy got 
back to the cottage that night. She could not make 
her out. Usually she was exuberant after any new 
experience. But now she was very quiet. There was 
no drawing her out. She did not want to discuss the 
evening and she wouldn’t. 

“I do hope,” Mrs. Moore asked anxiously, “that 
you told Mrs. Dudley that you had a lovely time— 
and that you thanked her—” She very much hoped 
it, but she had her doubts at the moment. There 
had been a cold glitter in her daughter’s eyes, a 
strange grimness in her manner when she had asked 
about Mrs. Dudley, that was ominous. If she had 
heard that Flopsy had deliberately tripped Mrs. 
Dudley up, she would have been horrified—but not 
surprised. 

“Certainly, I told her I had a very delightful 
time, that the dinner was wonderful. I thanked her 
for inviting me. I thanked her for sending for me 
and for taking me home. I told Janet I had a 
marvelous time. I told Mrs. Dudley we were 



78 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


charmed to have Janet over for the day. I said 
everything polite I had ever heard of in my whole 
life. But I didn’t mean one single word of it—and 
Janet gives me a big pain. And I am going to bed, 
mother. So good night.” She kissed her stunned and 
bewildered mother and haughtily left the room. 

“Well—I never!” Mrs. Moore gasped, so thun¬ 
derstruck that she couldn’t think of another thing to 
say. 



Chapter Four 

Flopsy Gets Some News 


T HE next morning Flopsy woke with a very 
definite determination. She was not going to 
sit around and wait for Diana as she had so 
many mornings in the last week or so. She was go¬ 
ing to walk over to the post office alone. She was 
going to ignore Miss Diana Dean—and that was— 
that! She hurried through her morning tasks—clear¬ 
ing the table, helping with the dishes and making her 
bed. Mrs. Moore watched her feverish activity, won¬ 
dered and worried. She hoped before long Flopsy 
would let her know what was in her mind, and what 
had happened the day before. 

“Aren’t you going to wait for Diana?” Mrs. Moore 
asked in all innocence. She suspected Diana had 
something to do with the situation. 

“No! I am not!” Flopsy fairly snapped. “She 
gives me a PAIN.” 

“Well?” Mrs. Moore ventured hopefully. 
Maybe, now she would have an explanation. “I 
seem to remember that you used some such ex¬ 
pression about Janet.” 

“And I meant it.” Flopsy spoke emphatically. 
“She moans and groans about things. I don’t mind 
people’s getting mad—but I hate moaning and 
groaning. All day yesterday she kept telling Janet 

79 


80 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


she didn’t like this and that and everything. She 
doesn’t like anything at Emerald Lake. I got sick 
of listening to her.” 

“Oh!” Mrs. Moore began to understand. “Oh, 
I wouldn’t pay any attention to that. I never went 
anywhere on a summer vacation that there wasn’t 
someone who spent the time wishing she were 
somewhere else. And, if she could get to this 
‘somewhere else,’ she’d still be complaining. Some 
people expect perfection for their holiday.” 

Flopsy opened the screen door and smiled faintly. 
She was in no mood for “whys and wherefores.” 
And too, she hadn’t the time, for at any minute 
Diana might pop in. 

“Good-bye, mother, I must hurry, or Diana will 
be here.” 

Mrs. Moore went about her work more content¬ 
edly. She thought that she had solved the mystery 
of Flopsy’s strange behavior. Diana had been be¬ 
littling the things which she enjoyed. This was 
always an unpleasant experience for anyone. 

Flopsy fairly tore up the road. She did not mind 
in the least being alone. She was going to surprise 
Diana—and that thought pleased her—she wanted 
to give Diana a BIG surprise! And, to her own 
greater surprise the postmistress handed her a pile 
of mail that morning. For the moment she was 
sorry that Diana was not there to see it, for too 
often she had come away empty handed, or with a 
few circulars. Diana always got mail. 

Flopsy counted her letters. There were five let¬ 
ters and two post cards. She sat down on the post 
office steps and looked them over. Three of the 
letters were for her mother—and—goodness! Two 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


81 


letters and one postal card were for her! Her eyes 
shone and her heart pounded. There was one very 
fat letter—it was fatter than any of her mother’s. 
It was addressed to “Miss Flora M. Moore.” On 
the back of the envelope was scrawled, “from B. Hil¬ 
ton, Camp of White Pines, Lake Minnitonka, 
Maine.” 

She wanted to shout, “Mother! Mother! I have 
a letter from Babbie.” But, of course she had to 
curb this impulse, it would be crazy —everyone about 
would think she had gone stark loony! She was 
almost too thrilled and too excited to open Babbie’s 
letter. She would save it until last—until after she 
had read the rest of her mail. Save it, as she al¬ 
ways did something especially delicious to eat. She 
wanted to keep the taste of Babbie’s letter with her 
for a long time. No other letter must come after it. 
Her other letter puzzled her for a few seconds. She 
had seen that cramped, precise handwriting before. 
Oh, it was Mary Howard’s! Why was Mary both¬ 
ering to write her? She hadn’t given Mary a thought 
for a long time. 

Then she looked at her postal card. Fleurette! 
It was a picture of School Number Nine—that school 
from which they had just graduated. Fleurette had 
sprawled all over it, in her big funny writing. For 
a fraction of a second Flopsy was annoyed. Fleurette 
had a big nerve sending her only a post card, after 
she had written a long funny letter. But she read 
the message almost at a glance and her annoyance 
vanished at once. “Dearest Flopsy! You crazy 
NUT! I am simply dieing to see you. We are com¬ 
ing up to your lake in a jew days. I can hardly wait . 
Loads of love , Fleurette.” There were lines, heavy 



82 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


black lines underscored under almost every other 
word. Flopsy giggled. What a silly looking card! It 
was just like Fleurette though—she was a crazy nut 
herself. What a swell time they’d have together! 
She could always laugh with Fleurette—and fight 
with her, but either was exciting. 

Flopsy tore open Mary Howard’s letter still won¬ 
dering and not particularly interested—but she had 
to open it before she read Babbie’s. 

Dear Flopsy: (she read) 

My mother and I want to thank you for your kind 
invitation to visit your lake. We really wanted to ac¬ 
cept your invitation very much but something very un¬ 
expected happened. My mother’s sister, who lives in 
England, is coming to visit us for a month. She is my 
Aunt Jennifer. My Uncle Hilary, and my two little 
cousins, Daphne and Sybil, are coming too. So, you 
can see that we can’t come and visit you this summer. 
Perhaps, some other summer. Once again, we want 
to thank you for your kind thought, and mother 
wants to be remembered to your mother. We hope 
you all have a happy summer. 

Your Sincere Friend, 

Mary Howard 

Flopsy’s face was a study when she was reading 
this letter. She looked quite as blank as she used to 
in school when Miss Hilton tried mental arithmetic 
tests on the class. She read the letter over again. 
Then, suddenly she remembered that she had in¬ 
vited Mary to their cottage. She had forgotten 
it completely. 

“And, she gives me a pain, too—” Flopsy added 
Mary to the list of undesirable friends that she was 




FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


83 


compiling in the last twenty-four hours. “Just wait 
until I show this to Fleurette, and she sees what 
goofy names her relations have. Won’t she laugh! 
She always said Mary was batty—and this proves it.” 

Now, she was ready for her precious letter—the 
most treasured of all, and still she hesitated to open 
it. She was undecided whether to open it there on 
the post office steps—or wait until she was alone in 
some lovely and secluded spot—where she could 
read it in peace—and where she would not hear a 
babble of voices about her. She was rudely awakened 
from her happy speculations, by a familiar voice. 
Someone hit her on the head with a playful whack. 

“Why, hello there— Flop-sy!” There was a de¬ 
cided emphasis on the name “Flopsy.” It was Di¬ 
ana, and the emphasis and the laugh which accom¬ 
panied this nickname decided Flopsy at once. She 
jumped to her feet and stared at Diana coldly. 

“Hello!” she answered shortly. “I’ve got to 
hurry. I have some very important letters to read.” 
She turned on her heel and walked off. It was 
easier than she thought it would be—to be haughty 
to Diana. At the moment nothing—or no one was 
important to her but Babbie. 

Diana was almost struck dumb. She stared after 
Flopsy with her mouth open. For the first time she 
thought of Flopsy other than as a freckled-faced 
kid, who liked to trail after her. And, she was dis¬ 
appointed too—because she wanted to talk about 
Janet. Janet had suggested that she might go over 
to the hotel with Flopsy, as the Dudleys were stay¬ 
ing a few more days. 

As Flopsy hurried along the homeward road, she 
remembered a rock under a tree—way up the road 



84 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


—and yet off it. There, she would sit in peace and 
read Babbie’s letter. Once there and hidden from 
passers-by, she tore open the envelope. Her heart 
was pounding with excitement. Would Babbie men- 
tion those “plans” that she and Miss Hilton had 
spoken of that day they had been at the house ? 1 
For weeks now she had dreamed of what they might 
be. Eagerly her eyes sought the answer to her 

hopes— 

My Dearest Flopsy: 

You must think I am awful not to have written you 
long before this. Every day, I have thought of you, 
and almost every day, I have started a letter to you. 
But you have to be at a camp, to know how many 
things keep happening to interrupt. You just never 
can finish a long letter. 

First of all I want to tell you this—although there 
are such wonderful girls here—you are still my best 
friend.— 

Flopsy stopped reading, and drew in a long deep 
breath of contentment. She went back to her letter— 

Molly and I will never forget what you did for her 
those last weeks of school, when she was sick and wor¬ 
ried, and how hard you worked to make her gradua¬ 
tion a big success. 

Oh, I must tell you this right away. Molly says you 
don’t have to call her Miss Hilton—you can call her 
Molly. You see, she isn’t going to be a teacher any 
longer. Would you like to? — 

Flopsy stopped again. She drew another long 
breath and puffed up with pride. Imagine, calling 
Miss Hilton—“MOLLY.” Wouldn’t her friends 
be envious? 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


85 


The funniest thing happened, you could imagine. 
Do you remember that story in the newspaper about the 
graduation ? — 

She did, indeed! She’d never forget it! 

Well, it was copied in lots of other newspapers in 
many cities. And, one day we received a letter that 
was forwarded to us up here in Maine. Or rather, 
Molly did. It was addressed to Miss Mary Ames Hil¬ 
ton. And, what do you suppose? 

Flopsy shook her head from side to side, just as 
though Babbie were there and asking her this ques¬ 
tion. She couldn’t suppose. She hadn’t any notion 
of what was coming. 

The letter turned out to be from our great, great 
aunt. Did you ever in your life hear, of anyone’s hav¬ 
ing a live great-great aunt? I never did before. 

She wrote to us because of Molly’s middle name. 
Her favorite brother’s girl’s name was “Mary Ames.” 
And, she was my grandmother. I hope I am not bor¬ 
ing you. It’s very complicated but I hope I am making 
it clear. 

My great-great aunt’s name is—Clarissa Ames. 
She says that she is an eccentric old lady of eighty- 
six. And, that she is always writing to the news¬ 
papers about all sorts of things—but this is the first 
time any good came of it. This, she wrote in her sec¬ 
ond letter when we were all sure that she was really 
our “Aunt Clarissa.” 

She wants to leave Molly and Mother some money 
right away. She wishes that Molly will have a lovely 
wedding that she can dream about all her days. She 
says the craziest thing for a lonely old person to do is 
—to leave money after them—for people to fight over. 
People who never cared whether she was alive and who 



86 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


were only glad to hear she was dead. She wants to 
enjoy the pleasure of giving it.—And, some day, be¬ 
fore long she is going to tell us why she is a lonely old 
maid. She says it is a romantic story, and she wouldn’t 
dream of telling it—except to some one in a romantic 
mood, and Molly must be, because she is going to get 
married. I’ll write you the story when I hear it, be¬ 
cause it is sure to be interesting. 

Please don’t laugh at me when I tell you that I’ve 
been an awful scared cat about some things up at 
camp. What do you think frightened me the very most 
at first. At night I was so afraid of the trees! These 
big tall pine trees seemed to be crowding in about me. 
You see, I am not used to trees at all—I never was 
in the woods before in my whole life. Out in Raw- 
hide, we could look for miles and miles across the 
plains and never see a tree—only the cactus plants. 
At first, even in the day time I felt shut in by the 
trees. This camp is so different from the wide stretches 
of plains I was used to. Another thing I was afraid 
of was the lake. I had never been near a river or a 
lake before. I never saw so much water at one time. 
Molly is going to take me over some day to the coast 
of Maine, and see the ocean. I never saw the ocean 
either. I don’t think I will ever be able to swim, and 
I am even afraid stiff to go out in the rowboats. Don’t 
laugh at me. Please don’t! 

But how I love the horses—the wilder the better. 
Some of the girls are afraid at first of them, but I am 
never happier than when I am riding. So maybe this 
evens things up a little. 

This letter is getting longer and longer. Molly has 
a plan—But she told me not to tell you yet, because 
she wants to write your mother about it first. I know 
what it is, but I promised not to tell you. I hope you 
will love it as much as I do. Molly sends her love to 
you and wants to be remembered to your mother. And 




FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 87 


when you see Alice Holt, be sure to give her best 
wishes from us. I liked her because you do, and so 
does David. David Stewart is Molly’s fiance, you 
know. 

Now, I must stop. 

Lots of love from your true friend, 

Babbie 

When Flopsy got through reading Babbie’s letter, 
she discovered that she had to untangle one finger 
from a curl on her forehead. She had been wind¬ 
ing a lock of hair around and around on her finger. 
After a long deep breath, she began everything all 
over again—Babbie’s letter, and the twisting of her 
curl. Before she left her lovely and secluded spot 
she had read her letter three times, and three times 
she had automatically unwound the curl from her 
finger. She stood up and again drew a long deep 
breath. She looked up into the radiant summer sky. 
Across its broad blue expanse was etched long wispy 
clouds. What a beautiful world it was! 

Flopsy’s feet had wings as she flew up the road. 
She must tell her mother at once about Babbie’s let¬ 
ter. She would not have to read it to her—she would 
recite it, for in her three intense readings she had 
learned it by heart. 

“Mother, how could a person have a great-great 
aunt?” Flopsy was at the chattering stage, for the 
letter had been discussed from almost every pos¬ 
sible angle but this one. 

“Oh, that is quite possible. Nieces and aunts are 
often very near of an age. Babbie’s Great-great Aunt 
Clarissa might not be much older than her grand¬ 
mother. Don’t you remember how impressed you 





88 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


were when you heard that Dottie’s big sister had a 
baby, and that Dottie and Margaret were aunts?” 

Flopsy scarcely heard this explanation, in her 
mind was a more burning question. She had already 
asked it—but it must be asked over and over again. 
What could Molly Hilton’s plan be? What could 
it be? She had decided now—that it could not be a 
trip to their ranch in Rawhide. 

“I bet I guessed it,” she burst out suddenly. 

“Guessed—what?” her mother teased. 

“Guessed the plan. I bet they are going to invite 
me to Maine! May I go? Oh, I hope I can! And 
then I could teach Babbie how to swim and teach 
her not to be afraid of boats, and help her not to be 
afraid of trees. I’d love it! ” 

“Yes, my dear, I am sure you would enjoy it,” 
Mrs. Moore said with a knowing smile. “But, don’t 
forget Babbie could teach you something, too. She 
could teach you to ride a horse, for instance.” 

“Oh—that!” Flopsy tossed this off lightly. 
“That’s nothing! You just have to sit on the horse. 
That couldn’t frighten me.” 

“You’ve never been near a horse,” Mrs. Moore 
ventured. 

“Well, I’ve seen people ride horses in the movies, 
millions of times—and it looks as easy as pie. I’d 
love it just as Babbie does. I only need to help her 
about swimming and the boats—she won’t have to 
bother about teaching me anything—” 

“I trust Babbie relishes being taught more than 
you do!” Mrs. Moore smiled. She was standing 
by a table on the porch, and absent mindedly picked 
up Flopsy’s letter from Mary and her card from 
Fleurette. She glanced over first one and then the 





FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


89 


other. Flopsy had been too excited over Babbie’s 
letter to give them a second’s thought after she had 
tossed them on the table. 

“Now, you might help me, this minute, Flora 
Moore, if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Moore held up 
the letter and the card. “Please, excuse me if I have 
read your mail—I did it half unconsciously. You 
never told me that you asked Mary Howard and 
her mother up here. And, Fleurette says — ( We will 
be up soon.’ Would you be kind enough to let me 
know who ( we y might be? I don’t like prying into 
your affairs, but I wouldn’t mind knowing what to 
expect in the way of guests. You see, I do have to 
help a little getting ready for them and feeding 
them when they do come.” 

Flopsy sat blinking—her brow furrowed. It was 
an almost impossible feat to get her mind off Babbie’s 
letter and concentrate on what her mother was say¬ 
ing. 

“And,” Mrs. Moore went on, “I have a letter from 
Mrs. Hall. You don’t know her,” she added quickly, 
knowing that Flopsy would ask at once who she 
might be—anything to stall for time. “She says that 
she might drop in some day this week. Of course 
we still have a visit from Alice to look forward to—” 

“Well, Alice has never written me, so I guess 
she’s not coming.” Flopsy attempted to soothe her 
mother for she felt that she was a little disturbed. 

“I doubt it very much. Anyway, you really ought 
to have Alice if you had anyone—you have known 
her longest and most of the time you consider her 
your best friend. Now that I have learned that you 
asked Mary Howard and her mother, will you please 
tell me whom you asked with Fleurette?” 





90 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Well—” Flopsy hesitated. She was not sure. It 
was all very confusing. Certainly she had no recol¬ 
lection of asking Mary and her mother. Had she 
asked anyone with Fleurette but her mother? She 
could not remember. “Why I just asked Mrs. 
Muldoon—I think—” she faltered. 

“You think!” Mrs. Moore echoed. “You think? 
That is not very reassuring. Daddy couldn’t find 
anyone to help me over in the village. Company! 
Company!” Mrs. Moore went into the cottage and 
let the screen door slip from her hand and bang 
just the way she had told the children not to do. 

Flopsy felt rather ill-used for the minute. She 
did not want to be bothered discussing anything but 
Babbie’s letter. However, her mother’s impatience 
did not depress her too long, for almost immediately 
she returned to her day-dreaming. 

That night at dinner, Mr. Moore announced: 

“Well, my darling daughter the great day is 
near at hand. Rejoice!” 

“What great day?” Flopsy asked eagerly. Had 
her father more news of Babbie? 

“Mr. Forbes is coming up again this week, and 
he is definitely, positively, and absolutely, going to 
bring Bill this time. We are going over to the 
Shaded River to do some trout fishing. And we will 
leave Bill here with you so you can have him all to 
yourself—” 

“All to herself!” Mrs. Moore wailed. “Very 
likely that will be the day Mrs. Hall arrives with 
several people and Fleurette Muldoon with several 
more—” 

“Poor child! So you can’t have Bill all alone—” 
Mr. Moore shook his head sympathetically. 




FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


91 


Flopsy looked from her mother to her father in 
dismay. 

“Flopsy has asked about half the town up here, 
I do declare—she can’t remember whom she has 
asked and whom she forgot or didn’t have time to 
ask—” 

Flopsy was glad at the minute that her mother was 
doing the talking. She was too exasperated at the 
thought of Bill Forbes’s coming to even comment 
upon it. 

“Flora, my child, have you by any fortunate 
chance as great a talent for drawing as you have 
for music?” Mr. Moore asked with a wicked gleam 
in his eyes. Flopsy had no ear for music, as she 
sang off key persistently. Never even by accident 
did she ever hit it. 

“Now what?” Mrs. Moore put in quickly. “Now 
what mischief is brewing? What are you up to—” 

“Well, I can do pretty smart printing if I do say 
it myself and I thought it would save a lot of un¬ 
necessary speculation, if I printed a very large sign 
and nailed it to a tree down on the main road. I will 
tell you in a second what I would have on it. I 
would like Flopsy to draw a hand with a pointing 
finger. Then something like this could be printed: 
THIS WAY TO THE MOORE COTTAGE. 
TURN RIGHT FOLLOW THE UPPER 
ROAD. EVERYONE WELCOME AT ANY 
HOUR OF THE DAY—OR AT ANY MEAL. 
THE MOORE THE MERRIER.” Mr. Moore 
grinned. “That last part there is a pun—” 

“A pun?” Mrs. Moore repeated. “Well— Oh, 
yes, I could see that that was what you meant,” Mrs. 
Moore laughed. “Puns are not often very funny, and 



92 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


it would be even less funny if all these people land on 
me at once. Well, if they do come, I’ll send the 
young people down to the Glen for a picnic 
luncheon—” 

“Oh!” Flopsy’s eyes brightened. “Can we cook 
down there—there are a lot of fire places. I’ve always 
wanted to cook but—” 

“But your hard-hearted mother wouldn’t let you. 
What a cruel mother you have to deprive you of 
the joy of cooking—” Mr. Moore shook his head as 
though it were very sad. 

“I meant out of doors—” Flopsy quickly corrected 
him. 

“This is all very funny, but today is Wednesday, 
and if all these people do come this week, they may 
hit the same day—” 

And Mrs. Moore was right—they all did. Mr. 
Forbes arrived early Friday morning. The Moores 
had scarcely finished breakfast when they heard the 
prolonged toot of his automobile horn. He got out 
of his car with Bill at his heels. Mr. Forbes wore 
his waders for trout fishing. Bill carried his basket 
and the fishing reels. 

Bill greeted Flopsy with a grin and a short “Hello, 
there!” then he subsided into a self-conscious silence. 
He avoided meeting Flopsy’s eyes. 

Mr. Moore got up from the breakfast table and 
hurried to his room to get into his waders. Mrs. 
Moore asked Bill if he would like some more break¬ 
fast (Mr. Forbes had said that they had had a wop¬ 
ping big one!) and Bill accepted her offer with a 
grin. Frankie and Dickie sat as close to him as they 
could without actually getting into his lap. Flopsy 
felt completely out of everything. No one seemed to 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


93 


know that she was living. She sat and and stared at 
Bill as though he were some strange creature from 
another world. You’d never have guessed that she 
had seen Bill Forbes every day of each school year 
since they were in the kindergarten—except when 
they had their turn at measles, mumps or chicken 
pox. 

There was very little opportunity for conversation 
even if either one of them wished it for Mr. Forbes 
and Mr. Moore were shouting back and forth to each 
other. To Flopsy and Mrs. Moore it was all a gib¬ 
berish—they had heard it many times before but they 
never had understood. Mr. Forbes was shouting 
about the “flies” he had with him, “Royal Coach¬ 
men” “Quil Gordon” “Cahill” and “Wickman’s 
Fancy”—and Mr. Moore was calling back about 
“Dry flies and wet flies” and “casting up stream” and 
“casting down stream.” 

“Do you understand all that?” Mrs. Moore asked 
Bill. “Are you a trout fisherman too?” 

“Sure,” Bill answered and then remembered his 
manners, “Yes, Mrs. Moore. But, trout fishing is—” 
and Bill fished around for a polite name for some¬ 
thing that gave him a pain in the neck. He didn’t 
catch one so he bit off a big piece of toast and jam, 
and didn’t finish his sentence. 

“But you are going fishing on the lake?” Mrs. 
Moore smiled sympathetically. Trout fishing, had 
the same effect on her. “Now Frankie and Dickie, 
move over, you are practically in Bill’s lap.” 

Bill nodded vigorously, in answer to her question. 
His mouth was too full to speak. However, he again 
recalled his manners and tried to answer politely— 
but nearly choked in the effort. 



94 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Yes—Mrs. Moore—bass—” he sputtered, with 
his face a fiery red. 

“Well, Flopsy I am sure will be only too glad to 
row you about, unless you prefer to do your own 
rowing?” 

“That’s all right, I can row myself swell!” There 
was a decided emphasis on this last. Flopsy had just 
told herself that she did NOT want to row Bill 
Forbes around the lake—but it annoyed her that he 
was so emphatic that he didn’t want her. She stood 
up and walked into the living room. She wasn’t just 
going to sit and stare at him—he wasn’t a treat to her 
eyes. 

Mr. Moore and Mr. Forbes were now ready to 
be off. 

“Well, Bill it’s up to you and your little auburn 
haired friend to get the dinner tonight for we won’t 
be back until long after dark,” Mr. Forbes called 
back. 

Bill glowered and said nothing. Flopsy made a 
face in her room. She had gone to it presumably to 
make her bed, but actually to get away from Bill. She 
heard her mother tell her brothers to take Bill down 
to the dock and show him the rowboat. As she heard 
the door bang and their shouts of joy, at the task 
before them, Flopsy smiled grimly to herself. “Good 
riddance and I wish he’d jump in the lake while he’s 
about it.” 

She sat down on her half made bed and wondered. 
She wondered if Diana would think Bill was any¬ 
thing. Would she think he was worth considering, 
worth fooling with? Bill, certainly would never take 
any prizes for beauty, but there was something about 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


95 


him that made most people like him—especially 
grown people. They said he was a “dear boy.” Just 
why, she couldn’t for the life of her see. He was an 
awful torment, he had a snub nose and his hair stuck 
out over his forehead as though it were wired. She 
went back to her bed-making, still undecided about 
Diana. If she knew for certain that Diana would 
think Bill was “cute” she would mention him to her 
and then spend the whole day keeping him away from 
her. She was never going to let one of her friends 
get near Diana Dean again—if she could help it. 
But Diana might easily think Bill was nothing, in 
this case it would be better to skip mentioning Bill 
altogether. 

“Flopsy! Flopsy!” she heard Diana calling out¬ 
side her window “Going over to the post officer” 

Flopsy came out to meet her quite unsmiling. 
Diana had tried her best to be sweet these last few 
days for she did want to be invited over to Janet’s 
hotel. But Flopsy had changed the subject each time 
Janet’s name was mentioned. This morning Diana 
began by telling her that she was going off for the 
whole day and that she did hope Janet wouldn’t 
pick this day to invite them to the hotel. Flopsy 
was delighted—she wouldn’t have to give Diana 
another thought the rest of the day. 

“Oh, Janet’s gone home by now,” Flopsy answered 
taking an almost wicked joy out of the situation. “Be¬ 
sides, I couldn’t go to the hotel. I have company—a 
boy from home. He is out fishing now—” She was 
bragging just as she had heard Diana do on many 
occasions. She hoped though with all her heart that 
the fishing was good and that Bill would stay out on 




96 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


the lake until after Diana got away. Diana might 
not think he was anything to brag about—and no 
more he was, she thought. 

“Oh! Oh!” Diana teased. But she was surprised 
again, she never expected Flopsy to have a boy visit¬ 
ing her any more than she had expected her to have 
a friend like Janet Dudley. 

Flopsy had another card from Fleurette that morn¬ 
ing. She read it aloud absent-mindedly. “Hello, 
Pal! I am acomin’ round the mountain tomorrow. 
Can’t wait to see you. Fleurette.” 

“That means today, I bet,” Diana commented look¬ 
ing over Flopsy’s shoulder at Fleurette’s huge hand¬ 
writing. 

“Oh, my goodness! I bet it does!” Flopsy broke 
into a run. 

“Do you want her when you have your boy 
friend?” Diana teased. 

Flopsy didn’t deign to give this exceedingly silly 
remark the slightest attention. She dashed pell mell 
up the road. She must tell her mother at once. 
When she got in sight of her cottage she stopped 
short. There were three cars parked behind it. One 
she knew was Mr. Forbes’s, for the men had gone off 
in the Moore’s car. The other two? “I bet,” she 
thought, “I won’t have to tell mother.” 

Just then she caught sight of a figure rushing 
towards her, with both arms waving in the air like 
an animated windmill. It was Fleurette! Flopsy let 
out a shout of joy. In another minute the two were 
in each others arms. 

“Oh, boy! Am I glad to see you!” Flopsy was 
bubbling over. “Now I can have some real fun. And, 
have I a lot of funny things to tell you. You’ll just 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


97 


die laughing! Wait till you hear the names of 
Mary Howard’s uncle and aunt and her cousins. 
Wait till you hear about Dottie Green. And JUST 
WAIT—till you hear all the exciting news about 
Babbie! ” 

“Listen!” Fleurette ordered, as they walked back 
to the cottage “Wait until I tell you something. My 
mother has red hair now—don’t you remember it 
used to be yellow? ” 

Flopsy stood stock still—she was dumbfounded. 
She just stared at Fleurette. What a calamity. Poor 
Mrs. Muldoon! 

“Yes, it’s red—redder than yours—lots.” Fleu¬ 
rette went on. “She had a permanent wave and it 
turned her hair red.” 

“Isn’t that awful!” Flopsy exploded. “Those 
people ought to be put in jail.” At the moment she 
couldn’t think of a greater disaster than having yellow 
hair turned into red. 

“It’s pretty,” Fleurette corrected. “I love it. I 
love your hair too—and my father always loved red 
hair—” 

Flopsy gave Fleurette a sharp side long glance. 
Was her friend trying to be funny or was she being 
just mean? 

“Honest, Flopsy!” Fleurette spoke earnestly and 
then changed the subject. “My Aunt Carrie came up 
with us and your mother has some other company. 
Mrs. Hall and a Mrs. Whoosit or Whatsit—and 
does she look like a big crab. I don’t know what she 
will do when she sees that you have red hair too. 
She just stared and stared at mother’s. And what a 
face!” Fleurette pulled her mouth down sourly in 
derision. 



98 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Flopsy’s heart missed a beat. She sensed her 
mother might not be too happy with Mrs. Muldoon 
and this crabby Mrs. Whoosit or Whatsit. She often 
wondered what her mother would think of Mrs. 
Muldoon. But she felt her mother would like her 
because she was jolly and laughed a great deal. She 
decided that she would keep away from the cottage 
as much as posible. 

“Well, I won’t stick around if that Mrs. Whoosit 
is like that . Anyway mother said we could go down 
to the glen for lunch and cook out of doors—it’s a lot 
of fun. And did you hear that that dear, sweet, cute 
Bill Forbes was up here too—he’s fishing right this 
minute?” She added this last with a mocking gusto. 
She was not surprised to notice that this news pleased 
Fleurette mightily. Fleurette thought boys were a 
lot of fun. 

“Let’s us go too—Fd love it—” Fleurette’s eyes 
brightened. 

“Well, we can’t go out in the rowboat—we will 
have to fish from the dock—Bill’s got the rowboat. 
We can catch sunnies and blue gills.” 

When Flopsy walked up on the porch, she saw 
at a glance that her friend Fleurette had definitely 
not been up to her old trick of exaggeration. Mrs. 
Muldoon’s hair was very red—fiery red—and Mrs. 
Whoosit’s face was very sour—just crabby. At that 
moment, Flopsy decided that her mother had the 
sweetest face, she had ever seen anywhere. Usually, 
she never gave it a thought—she just took it for 
granted. After Flopsy had been introduced to Mrs. 
Whoosit (whose name turned out to be Mrs. Lowell) 
and to Fleurette’s Aunt Carrie, she grabbed her friend 
by the arm. 




FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 


99 


“We are going fishing,” she explained, “down on 
the dock.” 

“That is a splendid idea.” Mrs. Moore smiled 
gratefully. “The boys are down there and you can 
keep your eyes on them. I never feel too happy 
when they are there alone.” 

“Oh, mother can we have our lunch in the glen— 
and cook out of doors? Mr. Forbes says Bill is a 
good cook—he’s been on so many fishing trips. Can’t 
we? You said we could?” Flopsy asked eagerly. 

Mrs. Moore nodded and laughed. She smiled 
towards her guests. 

“You don’t have to tease me, Flopsy. I have made 
all arrangements for you to do just that. I have a 
coffee pot, and a frying pan all ready for you. The 
coffee is in a cheese cloth bag—the Hamburg steak 
is all made up into cakes—the onions all sliced. I 
have rolls, fruit, cookies—” 

“My!” Mrs. Muldoon approved heartily. “Now, 
that’s what I call real sensible. We can get the kids 
out from under foot. And Carrie and me will turn 
right in and help you get our lunch. You’ve got 
plenty of company—too much for one day, I’ll say!” 

“You don’t need to consider me,” Mrs. Lowell’s 
tone was icy. “I am on a diet. I eat little or nothing. 
I won’t be a trouble to anyone!” 

“Well, that will be dandy for Mrs. Moore pro¬ 
vided—she has the particular little or nothing you 
eat, in the house—otherwise you and she will be out 
of luck.” 

Mrs. Lowell exchanged a look full of poison with 
Mrs. Hall. 

“Now, scoot along kids—and have a good time.” 

Mrs. Muldoon waved her hand. “Fly!” 

■* > 
i * 

> * 



100 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Flopsy led the way to the back porch where there 
were two old fishing rods belonging to her father. 

“Oh, boy, does that Mrs. Lowell give me the 
shivers!” Flopsy giggled. “You know, I bet Mary 
Howard’s aunt looks just like that. Wouldn’t you 
think an Aunt Jennifer would be like Mrs. Lowell?” 
she asked as she handed Fleurette a fishing rod. 

“Aunt— what?” Fleurette squealed. 

“Mary Howard wrote me a letter and she said that 
she had an Aunt Jennifer and an Uncle Hilary. 
And, she has two cousins, one is Daphne and the 
other Sybil.” 

This was much, much too funny to take standing 
up—the two girls all but rolled over as they shrieked 
and roared with laughter. They were nearly hyster¬ 
ical in their mirth. At last, with aching sides, they 
stood up. 

“ J enny-fur—Hi-lar-y. J enny-fur—Hi-lar-y,” 

Fleurette sing-songed between spasms of laughter. 
The girls raced around the cottage, waved to the 
grown-ups on the porch, and tore down the path 
to the lake. 

“Look!” Flopsy pointed. “Look down there, see 
those two blue gills—they are just waiting to be 
caught.” She pointed down into the clear, shallow 
water off the side of the dock. 

“How-do-you-do down there—I am glad to meet 
you! I know your names—one is Aunt Jenny-fur— 
the other is Uncle Hi-lar-y! You poor fish!” Fleu¬ 
rette leaned over the dock and saluted the two un¬ 
suspecting fish. 

“Please, don’t start me laughing again. I just 
ache,” Flopsy pleaded with a giggle. “Oh for Pete’s 
sakes!” her smile vanished. 




FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 101 


“What’s the matter?” Fleurette asked in quick 
concern. 

“We haven’t any bait.” And as an idea came to 
her, she pointed to her two brothers, who were sitting 
on the end of the dock, their eyes fastened on that 
distant rowboat in which Bill was fishing. 

“Well, you couldn’t use them for bait—except for 
whales,” Fleurette giggled. 

This struck Flopsy as enormously witty—and she 
went off into gales of laughter again. “I am weak—” 
she groaned. “All worn out from laughing.” At last 
she got herself under control. “That wasn’t the 
exact idea, but near it. I want them to get worms 
for me the way they do sometimes for daddy. Listen, 
Frankie,” she called, “get Fleurette and me some 
worms. We haven’t any bait.” 

“No, I won’t.” Frankie did not turn his head. “I 
want to watch Bill. And, I don’t know where there 
are any worms.” 

“That’s just nutty. Bill is out too far—you can’t 
see him. And, you do so know where there are 
worms. Up under the apple tree.” 

“I don’t want to get worms,” Frankie repeated 
stubbornly. 

“I think you are just mean—Fleurette is company. 
You have to be polite to company and you know it.” 

This line of reasoning made no impression on 
Frankie. His mother had told him to be courteous 
to company, but she had never said this courtesy in¬ 
cluded digging worms for them. Besides, his whole 
attention was riveted upon more important company 
—Bill Forbes. 

Flopsy made a motion with her hands that sug¬ 
gested that she would like to ring her brother’s neck 



102 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


and possibly at the same time chew him up, for she 
gnashed her teeth. 

“I bet Bill has some bait. Let’s call him—” Fleu- 
rette suggested, eager for an excuse to get Bill nearer 
to them. 

“I’ll get worms! ” and Dickie stood up and marched 
off. “I’ll get you a big bunch.” 

“Isn’t he darling!” Fleurette looked after Dickie 
who was trotting along in a very businesslike fashion 
on his short fat legs. This approval of Fleurette’s 
was partly to make Frankie feel ashamed of himself 
for not being obliging. But Frankie didn’t care a 
rap what she thought—he wasn’t going to leave his 
grandstand seat to get worms for her, or anyone. 

Flopsy and Fleurette cupped their hands to their 
mouths and shouted at the top of their lungs, “BILL, 
HEY THERE—BILL!” 

Bill heard them, for sounds over the lake carried 
farther than anyone ever realized. He drew up his 
oars for a second and then began rowing very fast. 
When he got near them, he stopped and held up two 
beautiful big bass. 

“How’s that?” he shouted. Then he noticed Fleu¬ 
rette. “Hello Fleurette! Welcome to our city!” 

Bill was in an altogether different humor, than 
when he had gone out on the lake. He was only 
too well pleased. He wanted an admiring audience 
for his performance as a fisherman. 

He stepped out of the rowboat so carelessly that 
he very nearly fell between it and the dock. Fleu¬ 
rette was disappointed she would have richly enjoyed 
seeing him fall into the lake. 

“What can I do for you girls?” he asked with a 
swagger. 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 103 
. ... ■■■ -- 1 - 


“We want some bait; we want to fish from the 
dock,” Flopsy explained. 

“Bait? O.K.” He jumped back into the boat in 
an even more uncertain manner than he had got out 
of it. “I’ve got plenty. Dad bought some on the 
way up.” Since he noticed that Fleurette thought 
he might fall in the lake, he did his best to give her 
a real thrill. He wobbled the rowboat until it 
seemed a miracle that he and his catch didn’t go over¬ 
board. Then he got back onto the dock using only 
one hand, in the other he held his can of bait. He 
very much disappointed the girls by accomplishing 
this feat without a mishap. 

“Hold out your hand, Flopsy,” he ordered. 

Scarcely realizing what this might mean, she held 
out her hand obligingly. Bill dug into his can and 
before she knew it, she held a handful of worms. 

“Oh—o-e—!” she let out a thin wail of horror. 
“Oh, glory!” Her stomach turned over at the sight 
and feel of the squirming, twisting worms. She 
shrieked wildly, now fully conscious of what he had 
handed her. She let them go—let them drop to the 
dock. She shivered and shivered. She shut her eyes 
and her mouth moved as though she were going to 
be sick. Fleurette went off into peals of laughter. 
Frankie was jubilant, he never had seen anything 
even half so funny in his whole six years. 

“You big dope, you!” Bill roared with rage. 
“Holy cats! Look what you’ve done.” He got 
down on his knees and began scooping up his treas¬ 
ures. “For the love of Mike, did you HAVE to do 
that?” he asked in outraged disgust. Two long worms 
had fallen between the boards of the dock into the 

water. 



104 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Aunt Jenny-fur’s going to get a free lunch—” 
Fleurette shouted. “See her—see her!” 

Suddenly Bill himself thought this was all very 
funny, for after all he had only lost two worms. He 
leaned over the dock to watch Aunt Jenny-fur making 
for her lunch. Flopsy could not come out of her ex¬ 
perience so quickly, she was still squeamish and un¬ 
comfortable. 

Bill had no intention, however, of “sticking 
around” with two girls fishing from a dock for sun- 
nies, and he made for the boat again with a “Hi, 
I’ll be seeing you.” 

Fleurette looked after him in dismay. She didn’t 
give a rap for fishing unless she had an audience. 
She was looking forward to putting on a good show 
for his benefit. Flopsy had another idea. 

“No you don’t, Bill Forbes,” Flopsy ordered. 
“You’ve got to put those worms on our hooks. I 
never want to touch one again.” She shuddered. “I’ll 
dream about them tonight.” 

“O.K., you big sissy!” and condescendingly, he 
took their lines and baited them. “Afraid of a nice, 
big juicy night-walker, are you? Tch! Tch!” He 
hold one long squirming worm near Flopsy’s cheek. 
She let out an ear piercing shriek that went up and 
down the scale. 

Fleurette was delighted. She hooted with laugh¬ 
ter. This was fun! She did wish Bill would not go 
off in the rowboat. But he went just the same. She 
looked after him regretfully. She and Flopsy sat on 
the dock dangling their lines for nearly an hour. 

“I think those worms you fed those darned old 
fish were breakfast, dinner and supper for them. And 
I bet Aunt Jennifer’s on a diet,” she observed. “Let’s 



FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 105 


call Bill back.” She looked across the lake to the row 
boat from which Bill was casting. 

Just then, they heard Mrs. Moore’s whistle. 
Flopsy knew it and knew, too, it meant lunch. She 
jumped to her feet, and let her line go. It fell into 
the water. To their amazement, “Aunt Jennifer” 
came right up to the hook, snapped and pulled at 
the bait, and made off with it. 

“Whoever said fish were dumb?” Flopsy laughed 
uncertainly. “Some one’s got to get that rod back, 
Daddy will want it again. Anyway, we can’t take 
the time now—that was mother’s whistle for lunch. 
We have to call Bill.” 

Fleurette jumped to her feet. This was all to her 
liking. Together the two girls—bellowed at the top 
of their lungs, “Bill-11! Bill-11! Willie—Willie— 
Bill-11! Will-yam—Will-yam!” They kept right on 
shouting until he got to the dock. 

“Did you call me,” he asked sweetly. “I thought 
I heard some one call Bill.” 

At the news that lunch was at hand, Frankie, Bill 
and the girls dashed up the path—pushing and shov¬ 
ing each other as they ran. 

Mrs. Moore met them and ordered them to the 
back porch. And as she handed out the supplies, 
she asked: 

“By the way, Flopsy, what did you send Dickie 
home for? He’s been sitting on the porch crying. 
He says you told him he had to have a worm and 
he couldn’t find one. His heart is broken.” 

“Why—” Flopsy began but she never finished. 
The gale of laughter which followed, would have 
drowned out anything she might have said. Poor 
Dickie! 



106 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


The glen to which they went was, to Flopsy’s 
imagination, an enchanted spot. The glare of the 
sun never fully penetrated it, but came shimmer¬ 
ing through the branches of towering pines. A wind¬ 
ing brook made music as it babbled over its stony bed. 

Bill Forbes amazed every one and perhaps him¬ 
self most of all. He became master of ceremonies, 
chief cook and bottle-washer. He made the fire, 
cooked the onions and the Hamburg steak, super¬ 
vised the coffee. He gave orders right and left. 
“Get me twigs—do this—do that—don’t do that or 
this.” He constantly reminded them that the place 
must be left clean and in order. “You can’t leave 
the place like a lot of dirty stupid picnickers would. 
You have to be a good camper.” (He was quoting, 
unknown to them, his father, who had pounded this 
into him.) The two girls, Frankie and Dickie were 
overcome with admiration. The major accident of 
the luncheon was Dickie’s upsetting half a bottle of 
milk and soaking his sun suit. Otherwise it was a 
repast beyond description. They were keyed up to 
the highest pitch of happiness. 

They stayed in the glen until it was nearly time 
to go in bathing, and then with warwhoops they 
raced over the moss and pine covered ground, and 
out of this enchanted spot. 

Fleurette confessed to Flopsy that she couldn’t 
swim a stroke and wished she had water wings. 
Flopsy knew where there was an old inner tube for 
a car tire, and at Fleurette’s request, did not tell her 
mother she had borrowed it. “My mother’s scary,” 
she commented. 

If Mrs. Muldoon was “scary,” Fleurette certainly 






“Watch me, this is going to he a 'peach” 





















































FLOPSY GETS SOME NEWS 109 


was not! She put the tube around her middle and 
insisted upon trying to go out to the float. Bill and 
Flopsy half dragged her most of the way. Merci¬ 
fully, for her mother’s peace of mind, she did not 
see her utterly reckless daughter. Mrs. Muldoon 
insisted she was much too fat to wobble on high heels 
down to the beach. Flopsy was overjoyed—radiant. 
This was what she had been looking forward to all 
summer—her own “crowd” on the float. She stood 
on the edge of it, and posed for a racing dive as she 
had seen Diana do. 

“Watch me, this is going to be a peach,” she 
shouted. 

“A beaut!” Bill agreed and gave her a violent 
shove that sent her flying and into the water with a 
tremendous splash! It was so sudden, that she had one 
ghastly and awful second of thinking that she must 
drown. But she came spluttering, snorting, panting 
to the top. Bill and Fleurette were convulsed with 
laughter. She felt proud of herself—oh, it was 
wonderful—gorgeous fun—if she could live through 
it! She climbed up on the ladder, made a dash for 
Bill and paid him back in full measure. She tripped 
him up and over he went with a yell of surprise. 
Then they were off! For nearly an hour they rough 
housed. Even Fleurette took part in the melee; when 
the other two threw her overboard, inner tube and 
all, she would climb back and give them what they 
gave her. 

“You sure can take it!” Flopsy sputtered. She 
was now so winded she couldn’t talk. She had to 
sputter. 

Mrs. Muldoon’s hair had been yellow last year, 
this year it was red, but if she could have seen her 
daughter’s trip back from that float, it would have 



110 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


changed color again, and in a trice. This time it 
would have turned white from stark fright. 

They were all too intoxicated with excitement, too 
hilarious, to give Fleurette’s safety any particular con¬ 
cern. Twice it seemed as though she were going to 
slip through the inner tube and take a quick trip to 
the bottom of the lake. Once she clutched Bill tight 
around the neck, and nearly took him under. It 
was only a miracle that there was no real calamity to 
mar a perfect day. 

When they got back to the cottage, Mrs. Muldoon 
was waiting in her car to take them all over to the 
village for ice cream, lollypops and candy. “Get 
into your clothes, kiddies,” she ordered. It was an 
order obeyed without a word of protest. 

“Well, Flopsy, Pve some news for you. Good 
news, I hope! I am leaving Fleurette here for a few 
days—” 

There was a whoop of joy that fairly tore the 
roof off the car! 



Chapter Five 

Alice , Flossy and Two Horses 

F LEURETTE stayed for two days. The first 
morning the sky was gray and the air was chilly, 
and there was a feeling of rain in the air. In 
the afternoon, the heavens opened up, and it poured 
cats and dogs. Of course there were no walks and 
no boating. The two girls did not stay in swimming 
long, for, although they thought it was fun bathing 
in the rain, they shivered until their knees and teeth 
rattled like castanets. 

As a compensation for their disappointment, Mrs. 
Moore reluctantly consented to Flopsy’s making 
fudge. She very much doubted that the fudge would 
be any solace or comfort to anyone. Only once before 
had Flopsy made fudge and the memory of that 
undertaking was not cheerful. However, it might 
keep Fleurette from getting homesick; it might 
prove the mildest form of mischief, too, that the 
girls could get into. There was something about 
Fleurette that sharpened Flopsy’s enjoyment of the 
fantastic. Yes, she might make fudge! 

As far as Mrs. Moore was concerned, the fudge 
making proved to be worse than any mischief she 
could have imagined. The small kitchen was in the 
most horrible disorder in no time at all. It seemed 
almost unbelievable that anyone could use so many 
pots, pans, bowls, spoons and cups, in preparing any- 

111 


112 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


thing less than an eight course dinner. The only 
limitation to Flopsy’s extravagant use of cooking 
utensils was the fact that the owner of the cottage 
had provided for no more. The fudge had to be 
tested every few minutes, by dropping a little from 
a spoon, into a cup of cold water. Each time Flopsy 
tested she used another spoon and another cup. The 
fudge had to be stirred constantly, and after each 
stirring, she laid the sticky spoon on the table and 
took a new one. When at last she decided that it 
simply must be cooked, she poured it into a buttered 
dish to harden. Which, one must add, it did not! 
Then, the whole process had to begin all over again. 
The fudge was poured back into a nice clean saucepan, 
and re-cooked. More spoons, more cups, more 
saucers! Flopsy more exasperated than she would 
admit, blamed all her difficulties upon her two small 
brothers—they got in her way. Furiously, she 
ordered them out of the kitchen. Fleurette was hav¬ 
ing a wonderful time—she sat on a chair, chattered, 
giggled and at times laughed outright. Flopsy was 
a scream! Mrs. Moore knitted before the fire in the 
living room, and tried to keep her two small sons 
from arguing over everything or nothing,—tried to 
keep them from wanting the same picture book, the 
same game or the same chair at the same time. She 
tried to discourage them from asking incessantly, 
“When will the fudge be done?” 

“Flopsy!” she called. “Don’t you think if you 
talked less, things might go easier for you? Not a 
criticism—just a suggestion!” she called cheerfully. 

“Oh, it’s coming —this time,” Flopsy sang out 
gaily, but made a long face at Fleurette, and added 
in a low tone, “I hope!” 



ALICE , FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 113 


Three times in all that fudge was cooked over. 
And in the end it never hardened at all. Flopsy 
brought it into the living room in five small bowls, 
each provided with a spoon. 

“It tastes nice, though,” Flopsy chirped airily, and 
not in the least daunted by this way of serving candy. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Moore hesitated, “but may I ask if 
you have left me any sugar? And if that strangely 
attractive odor I smelled awhile back might mean 
it had at least once stuck to the pan?” 

“I think—” Flopsy began and then proceeded to 
do some very rapid thinking. “That was when I 
spilled some on the stove. Was it sort of a burned 
smell ? ” 

“It was indeed!” Mrs. Moore said emphatically. 

The next day it rained without a let-up from 
morning until night. Flopsy and Fleurette put on 
wet bathing suits and started down for the beach. 
Mrs. Moore called them back. Fleurette had sneezed 
a half dozen times that morning. That afternoon 
they toasted and burned marshmallows and popped 
and burned corn over a roaring fire in the living 
room. In the evening, the girls played checkers and 
card games and found everything and anything that 
turned up or transpired uproariously funny. Mrs. 
Moore had to admit that Flopsy and Fleurette were 
having a hilarious time, but she herself was growing 
weary of the incessant chatter and bursts of laughter. 
The two boys squabbled over practically nothing. 

“Don’t you love Bedlam?” Mr. Moore asked 
pleasantly. “When I spend my last years in a lunatic 
asylum I’ll feel as though I were right back at 
Emerald Lake.” 

It rained the third day until late in the afternoon, 



114 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


when the sun suddenly blazed out, through the last 
shower of rain. The sky was resplendent with a 
double rainbow. 

Not since Noah left his ark, was there greater 
rejoicing that a deluge had ceased. 

The next morning Fleurette went down to town 
with Mr. Moore. Flopsy couldn’t bear to see her 
go. She had had a marvelous time with her. She 
sat for a long time on her back porch looking into 
space, and feeling completely lost and forlorn. 

However, her grief was to be only a passing one. 
She received a long letter in the mail that morning 
from Alice Holt. Alice was coming in two days to 
get her, and take her over to see her two aunts, who 
lived fifteen miles away. Alice’s Uncle Tom would 
take them in his car. 

The morning they were to arrive, Flopsy walked 
up and down and up and down the road looking for 
them. She hadn’t seen Alice Holt, her best friend 
most of the time, for three weeks. She was looking 
forward eagerly to going visiting at some one’s house. 
It was a rare experience for her. 

Mrs. Holt was with Uncle Tom and Alice, when 
they finally came. She was not to stay with them, 
but was leaving the two girls in her brother’s 
hands. 

“Now, what are you going to do with these girls? 
I don’t altogether trust you. You’ve never grown 
up—” Mrs. Holt asked of her brother. “For good¬ 
ness’ sake, don’t think of anything weird. Remember, 
I am responsible for some one else’s child!” 

“I was going to take them up in a plane, and 
practice parachute jumping.” 

“You will never do anything of the sort,” fairly 



ALICE , FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 115 


shrieked Mrs. Holt. “You keep those children on 
the ground. Thank heavens, there are no canoes 
either to be had—” 

“All right, then—I promise you—no parachutes 
—no canoes.” 

They were now driving into a quaint old town, 
with wide streets, heavily shaded by magnificent elms. 
Most of the houses were white, and as it was rose¬ 
time, the ramblers, white and pale pink to deep red, 
covered fences, arches and the sides of the houses 
themselves. Flopsy began playing a little game with 
herself. 

“Maybe it’s the next one—maybe the third one. 
Maybe—” 

“We are almost there; Aunt Alicia lives just the 
other side of the town.” Alice broke into her reverie. 
“In a very big house. But it’s a farmhouse. You 
will love it, Flopsy.” 

“Oh, I know I will.” Flopsy caught in her breath 
with sheer joy at the prospect. “I love farmhouses. 
I never was in one.” 

It was a fine old place. It had been in the Holt 
family for generations. Big and white it was—ram¬ 
bling and low. It had, in the years, been added to 
many many times. 

“I love it,” Flopsy burst out. “It looks like a 
storybook house.” 

“It is,” Mrs. Holt said, smiling. “There are many 
stories told about it.” 

Aunt Alicia was a dear old lady. She and her 
sister Georgiana or “Aunt Georgie,” had never mar¬ 
ried, and had lived here all their lives. Aunt Alicia 
was like a little bird, with bright shining eyes and 
somehow or other she gave one the impression of 



116 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


fluttering wings! Aunt Georgie was short and round 
and very solemn. 

“Alice, take your little friend and show her about 
the house until dinner is ready. We have dinner in 
the middle of the day, you know, out here.” 

The house had been in the beginning, a small box¬ 
like affair, with only two stories, and then another 
“box” had been added to it, this one with three 
stories,—then another “box” with three stories,— 
then another “box” with two stories,—the fourth 
“box” had had three stories, the last addition was 
only a story and a half. A wide veranda ran al¬ 
most around the house—a veranda without a rail¬ 
ing and only one short step up from the ground. 
What a house to explore! Alice led the way as an 
excited and proud guide; Flopsy was at her heels, 
tingling from head to foot with the novelty of 
it. Behind a door in the low-ceilinged living room, 
there was an unexpected flight of stairs leading to 
a bed room. In all, there were five staircases, for 
each addition had its own. There was no way of 
getting from one addition to another except by going 
out upon the veranda, and going in another door! 

After a delicious dinner, Mrs. Holt left the two 
girls in charge of Uncle Tom while she borrowed his 
car, and drove over to the country club with a final 
warning to her brother. 

“Well,” Uncle Tom sat on the edge of the porch 
with his long legs sprawling ahead of him, “well!” 

Flopsy and Alice exchanged glances of expectancy. 
What had Uncle Tom in the back of his head? 

“Well!” he repeated for the third time, looking 
up into the sky, with a very innocent expression. 
“I’ve got an idea!” 

“Oh, what is it!” Alice sprang to his side and sat 




ALICE y FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 117 


down beside him. a Tell us, tell us,” she pleaded. 

“Guess!” he tormented, still gazing innocently up 
into the sky. 

“Oh, I couldn’t, I couldn’t! Tell us, please tell 
us!” 

“Horses!” he said shortly. 

Alice was puzzled. What did he mean? Real 
horses—was he using slang to tease her? 

<( Real horses?” 

“The realest horses you ever saw. A leg at each 
corner, tail behind, one head in front—eat hay, and 
go like the old Harry.” 

“What for?” 

“What for—what?” 

“What for are the horses?” 

“To ride—for pretty little ladies to ride. My 
dear young ladies have you never ridden a horse?” 

Flopsy’s eyes were very wide—her lips were 
parted breathlessly. She thought of Babbie. 

“Oh, Uncle Tom, are you going to give us a 
horse to ride?” Alice fairly squealed. 

“Most certainly not. Your mother would parboil 
me in oil if I did. I have no intention of giving away 
two horses on this summer day, but —” he drew 
a long breath, and continued with a flourish, “but 
I am thinking of hiring a horse for each of you for 
one hour, how would you like it?” He lowered his 
head, and watched from under his eyebrows. The 
two girls were at first so surprised that they only 
stared at him. 

“Did you ever get on a horse?” Alice turned to 
Flopsy after a few minutes’ silence. 

“No—I never did,” Flopsy answered slowly and 

a little cautiously. 

“Well, how about it?” Uncle Tom went on. “I 



118 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


expected more excitement and turmoil over my sug¬ 
gestion. Don’t tell me that you don’t want to go.” 

“I’d love it,” Flopsy managed to say almost as 
though she meant it. She must mean it. What would 
Babbie think of her, if she didn’t? 

“So would I—I’d love it,” echoed Alice—her 
enthusiasm was not quite as well done as Flopsy’s. 

“Well, it’s this way,” Uncle Tom explained. “A 
fellow I know over in the village, has just bought 
a half dozen horses, for the guests at the hotel to 
hire. It’s perfectly safe. I am going along to take 
care of you. They really are very, very safe. Lots 
of the youngsters up in the town have tried them, 
and to date, there have been no casualties!” 

Flopsy’s face brightened at the assurance that 
Uncle Tom was to be with them. Her knowledge 
of horses was meager, for no one in their town owned 
a horse, not even the butcher, the baker, or the 
grocery man. Oh, yes, the milkman had a horse, 
but Flopsy was not up inspecting or making acquaint¬ 
ance with people or animals at the time the milk¬ 
man’s horse was conspicuous on the streets. 

“Let’s!” Flopsy jumped up, eager now for an 
adventure. 

“ ’At ’a girl. Let’s go! Tell your aunts I am 
taking you off. I’ll be waiting for you. Step on it!” 

The two girls dashed into the house to tell Aunt 
Alicia and Aunt Georgiana. Both girls were in a 
flutter of excitement, and the two aunts were equally 
excited. Ought they permit the girls to go off with 
Tom. He was so heedless! But there was no stop¬ 
ping them. 

“How do you steer a horse?” Flopsy giggled as 
she went out to meet Uncle Tom. “I suppose it’s 



ALICE , FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 119 


like steering a rowboat, you pull on the side you want 
it to go.” 

Alice squealed with joy, “You crazy cat! You 
don’t steer a horse. But if you did—and if you steered 
it the way you did that rowboat once, I’d hate to 
be near you.” 

Flopsy laughed so hard she had to lean against 
a balustrade to keep from tumbling over. That had 
been a funny experience once it was all over! 

“Now, girls,” warned Uncle Tom, as they walked 
over the road to the stable, “don’t please, get me in 
dutch. These horses are O.K.—safe—and all that. 
I can’t understand how it happens you never were 
on a horse for that matter. Don’t you live in the 
country?” 

“No, no, it’s a town! We don’t have horses in 
it.” 

“Well, then, this is sure to be the experience of 
your young lives—something to write home about.” 

Flopsy’s heart was far from light as they walked 
into the stable yard. She and Alice kept making 
funny faces at each other, rolling their eyes sky¬ 
ward—crossing them, and waving their heads from 
side to side as though dizzy. 

“Well, here we are! Here we are!” Uncle Tom 
led the way into the stable itself. 

Flopsy sniffed with utter disgust—the fragrance 
of the stable did not appeal to her at all—nor in 
fact, was she attracted by the row of horses. She 
gave Alice a nudge, and with her hand to her head 
gave her best and most elaborate imitation of Charlie 
Chaplin staggering around after a blow. 

“Which horse do you want?” Uncle Tom waved 
his hand in the direction of the stalls. 



120 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Neither of the girls looked as though they wanted 
any of them. 

“You pick out one, Uncle Tom,—a nice tame one 
for today,” Alice suggested. 

“Well, I never in my life saw such girls. I ex¬ 
pected you to beg me for the wildest one! ” 

“I bet Babbie or Miss Hilton would like a wild 
horse,” Flopsy commented aloud, and then promptly 
decided she must be a good sport or Babbie might, 
if she heard about it, be disappointed in her. 

The stable boy lead out two horses—and as he 
saddled them, the girls stood by and inspected them 
with great curiosity. 

“What do you grab on to?” Flopsy asked, after a 
few minutes deep speculation on the subject. 

“You don’t grab! For heaven’s sake! What a 
sweet prospect I am in for—” Uncle Tom was 
almost regretting his “brilliant idea.” “Come now, 
Alice, I’ll help you mount—Joe, you help Miss 
Flopsy.” 

Uncle Tom tossed Alice into her saddle, mounted 
himself, and then turned to look at Flopsy and Joe. 
Flopsy, despite Joe’s advice and aid, was climbing 
up the side of the horse as if it were an apple-tree. 

“For the love of Pete,” he roared with laughter, 
“you are the craziest kid.” 

Flopsy, very red in the face, sat upon her saddle, 
and took the reins Joe handed her, as though in a 
trance. Suddenly she looked down—all the way 
down to the stable floor, and in a wavering voice, 
which she intended to sound light, said, “Isn’t this 
a high horse?” 

Uncle Tom went off into another roar of laughter. 
Flopsy was afraid to turn her head to see what Alice 



ALICE y FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 121 


was doing. She felt as though she were sitting astride 
the dome of the Capitol. 

“And he’s very wide,” she added. 

Just then the horse under her took a step forward, 
and Flopsy’s eyes opened with dismay. It felt so 
funny when he moved—so wobbly! 

“It’s quite nice, isn’t it, Flopsy?” Alice called 
over to her*. Flopsy managed to turn her head and 
look at Alice. 

“Yes, only I wish my horse wasn’t so high and so 
wide, and he feels so funny.” 

As if in vigorous protest, Flopsy’s horse tossed 
his head around and looked at her with one indignant 
outraged eye, and then gave a violent neigh. 

Flopsy, as she said afterwards, “just passed out of 
the picture”—for she let out a feeble little yell, and 
grabbed the horse around the neck. 

Uncle Tom, two stable boys, and the owner of 
the livery stable, howled with laughter. Even Alice 
managed to laugh with some small degree of natural¬ 
ness. 

“Listen,” sputtered Uncle Tom, “don’t grab your 
horse—or the saddle. And don’t be afraid.” 

“Won’t he bite?” Flopsy gasped. “I think I’d like 
another horse. This one doesn’t like me—” 

“Joe,” Uncle Tom ordered from his own mount, 
“lead the horses out of the stable. Now, Flopsy, 
relax. The horse is not going to bite you. No harm 
is coming to you, I promise you.” 

As Joe led the horses out, Flopsy managed to 
regain her nerve for a few minutes, and with a great 

show of bravery, began to talk. 

“What’s my horse’s name?” she asked pleasantly— 

as though it mattered! 



122 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Pigeon,” Joe answered, “and the other one is 
Satan! ” 

“That’s nice for you, Alice,” Flopsy tossed the 
remark off as lightly as she could. “You’ve got a 
devil for a horse.” 

Alice laughed, but her laugh didn’t ring with any 
real mirth. 

“Now, girls, come on. I’ll lead the way. Let 
them go, Joe.” 

Satan followed slowly with Alice on his back, look¬ 
ing very prim and uncomfortable. Pigeon was stand¬ 
ing stock still in the middle of a patch of grass. 

Flopsy had turned her eyes to gaze after Uncle 
Tom and Alice, but when she looked down at her 
horse again, she let out a wail of horror. 

“What’s my horse doing? Where’s his head?” 

There was nothing before Flopsy in the shape of 
a horse—nothing but the front rim of the saddle. 

“He’s eating grass—pull up his head! Pull it 
up!” Joe came to her side, tears running down his 
face with laughter. 

“Miss, you got to let a horse know you are boss. 
You can’t let him get away with anything he wants. 
Here hold the reins so.” Joe gave the distraught 
Flopsy the reins with a few words of advice. Flopsy 
yanked the horse’s head up as high as she could. 

“Come on, Flopsy,” called Uncle Tom. “Come 



“What’s he doing now?” Flopsy groaned. “Oh, 
he’s going over to that tree. He’s eating the leaves. 
Goodness! ” 

“Come on, Flopsy,” Alice yelled. “Come on.” 

“I can’t help it if I’ve got a hungry horse. It’s 
not my fault,” she shrieked back. “He keeps turn- 





“Make him turn his head around!” 













ALICE, FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 125 


ing his head around and looking at my feet. I bet 
he’ll eat them next. Make him turn his head around, 
he’ll eat my foot,” and she grabbed Joe by the hair. 

With Joe’s assistance, Flopsy managed at last to 
get out of the stable yard and catch up with Alice. 

“You’re a scream,” Alice began. “I’ve nearly died 
laughing at you.” 

“Well, you’ve got a decent horse. Mine is crazy.” 
Flopsy retorted irritably. “I don’t like these hired 
horses.” 

The two horses were now side by side walking 
slowly up the road towards the village. 

“Use the whip a little, get some pep into those 
animals,” Uncle Tom yelled. 

“I will not,” Flopsy answered, almost sulkily. “I 
want him to walk.” 

“Now, where are they going!” Flopsy gave a 
faint shriek. The horses, side by side, for no apparent 
reason, were climbing a small embankment into a 
broad field. 

“I don’t want to go into this field, do you Flopsy?” 

“What a crazy horse! Turn your horse around. 
Mine seems to want to go with yours.” 

The two girls pulled and tugged at their reins but 
the two animals in a most deliberate fashion kept 
right on walking through the field. 

“Whoa—whoa!” Flopsy commanded. “Whoa, 
you crazy disgusting horse.” 

“You should pull on the other rein!” Alice 
ordered. “My horse is following yours—it’s your 
horse’s fault.” 

“It is not, it is your old horse.” Flopsy was so 
“riled up” that she didn’t know whether to laugh or 
cry. 



126 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Girls,” bellowed Uncle Tom, “where in the 
name of goodness, are you going? Come out of that 
field.” 

“Ye-ah,” Flopsy laughed weakly. Her stomach 
felt positively hollow. “I’d come out of this field 
if that darn old horse had an inch of brains.” 

Joe had been watching the horses and he was now 
rolling over and over on the grass, and howling with 
laughter. 

“Joe, you idiot!” called Uncle Tom. “Get up and 
go after those girls, and bring them back on the 
road.” 

Joe sprang to his feet and dashed after the girl’s 
horses. 

“They are the stupidest horses I ever saw. You 
can’t make them do anything,” Flopsy explained to 
Joe. 

“It’s because they think you are too easy. They 
are smart—them horses—not stupid. They know 
right well you never was on a horse before,” Joe 
said as he led the two horses back to the main road. 
“Be firm with them.” 

“How long have we been out?” Flopsy asked 
abruptly. 

“About twenty minutes. The boss ain’t a crab 
—you can have them more than an hour, and he 
won’t charge you nothing more.” 

“Oh, dear,” Flopsy slumped in her saddle. 

“I quite like it,” Alice said sweetly. 

“Yes, you do, with Joe holding on to your 
horse’s reins and pulling him along,” Flopsy re¬ 
torted. 

“Where were you girls heading for?” Uncle Tom 
came back to meet them. “What were you riding 
across the meadows for?” 



ALICE , FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 127 


“Don’t ask us!” Alice answered. “They are the 
silliest horses—Flopsy’s horse follows mine—or 
rather, mine wants to follow hers.” 

“Come on, try and keep them on the road,” 
Uncle Tom suggested. “It’s really the place for 
them.” For a few hundred feet, Uncle Tom stayed 
with the girls directing them, then he went ahead 
again. They were now passing a few houses, all 
of which were perched on terraces. 

“There—they are acting crazy again!” Flopsy 
cried—now almost on the verge of tears. “I can’t 
see any sense to it.” The two horses had decided 
again to leave the road, and climb up one of the 
terraces. “Alice it is your horse’s fault—make him 
turn around. Oh, gosh!” she shrieked. “Look 
where they are going! These people don’t want 
these darn old horses in their backyards. Call your 
Uncle Tom.” 

“Uncle Tom,” Alice screamed frantically. “Come 
on and get us.” 

The two horses were calmly and deliberately 
making their way into some one’s backyard! 

“There’s a well! I bet this horse is thirsty now, 
and wants a drink. If he tries to get water out of 
that well, I’ll—” Flopsy grabbed the front of 
her saddle. She was almost speechless with fear. 
The well did seem to be the very thing the horses 
were seeking, for they went right to it. Probably 
it looked like a huge pail to them. 

“Oh, dear,” Flopsy gasped in a weak, faint voice, 
“Isn’t—it—terrible!” Her horse was looking down 
the well. 

“Did you think the horses were going down that 
well, you little geese?” Uncle Tom said, as he 
and Joe came to their rescue. “And do you know 



128 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


that you are in the Widder Page’s backyard, and 
if she catches you, you, not the horses, will be the 
ones to go head first down that well. You better 
get out of here double quick, I am telling you /” 

“Do you think we wanted to come in here?” 
Alice asked crossly. 

Joe and Uncle Tom got the girls out on the 
main road again, and this time they discovered that 
they had collected a crowd. One woman was stand¬ 
ing by her gate rocking back and forth with laugh¬ 
ter. She threw her apron over her head, and let 
forth peal after peal of boisterous mirth. 

“Let me off—” Flopsy cried rather wildly. 

“Now, girls, we’ll get away from this mob soon. 
Stick it out—be good sports. Here, Joe, give Pigeon 
a good start—” With this, Joe promptly gave Pigeon 
a sharp wallop on the flank, which made the horse 
spring into the air, and then sent him galloping up 
the road. Flopsy threw her arms about his neck, 
and lay right down on it, too exhausted to do any¬ 
thing else. Every time she left her saddle, as Pig¬ 
eon sent her into the air, she almost wished she didn’t 
have to return to her saddle, it was so hard. It was 
exactly like being bounced up and down on a stone 
wall. Pigeon at last calmed down and walked qui¬ 
etly, every so often turning his head over his shoul¬ 
der to look at his rider. Uncle Tom and Alice were 
now beside her. 

“This horse keeps giving me the dirtiest looks,” 
Flopsy complained. “He hates me!” 

“You are a funny kid,” Uncle Tom roared. 
“Now, I promise I won’t leave you again, Flopsy. 
That was really an awfully sharp wallop that that 
idiot gave your horse.” Uncle Tom rode for over 



ALICE , FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 129 


half a mile between the two girls—guiding their 
horses—and giving them advice about riding. 

“Come, now, let’s break into a trot. This is an 
awful poky way to ride.” 

The minute Flopsy’s horse broke into a run, and 
she began bouncing up and down on her saddle 
again, she let out a wail— “Let me off, please.” 

“And me—” Alice echoed. “Let’s rest.” 

Uncle Tom sighed. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll 
help you both dismount and tie your horses at this 
fence—then I’ll go on for a few miles and come back 
and get you—will that do you?” 

The two girls were instantly jubiliant and bub¬ 
bling over with good humor. Uncle Tom dismounted 
and helped them climb down from their horses (for 
it couldn’t be said that they “dismounted”). 

“Now,” he said, as he slipped the horses’ reins 
over the top of a picket fence, “I hope you two 
tenderfoots are satisfied. Wait for me—and per¬ 
haps you will make a better showing, and ride 
back in finer form than the way you came out here. 
Heaven knows it couldn’t have been worse!” He 
mounted his own horse again and with a bow and 
a flourish, dashed up the road and out of sight. 

The two girls sat by the roadside giggling over 
their recent experience—for they could laugh now! 

“Flopsy!” Alice gasped in horror, staring over 
Flopsy’s shoulder. 

“What do you see?” Flopsy was petrified with 
fear. “What are you looking at?” She was too 
afraid to move to see what it was that Alice was 
staring at in that terrified fashion. 

“Your horse has gotten loose—look—look!” Her 
voice was shrill. 





130 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Flopsy turned her head, gingerly, slowly. She 
was very weary of looking at her horse. Well 
there he was—eating grass (still hungry it seemed) 
—just a few feet away from her, with his reins 
trailing behind him in the dust. Uncle Tom had 
not tied him—only slipped the reins over the top 
of the picket fence, and Pigeon with hardly a tug 
at them, had pulled them off, and was cheerfully 
eating a coveted bit of grass a few feet beyond his 
reach. 

“Oh, glory halleluiah!” Flopsy squealed and then 
with a sudden spring, she made a brave dash for the 
end of the reins, grabbed them, tied them fast to 
the latch of a gate—in fact, wound it up with the 
latch so hard and tight that it would take some 
skillful fingering to untie it! 

“I am going,” she announced to Alice. “I am 
going back to the stable. Stay if you like and wait 
for Uncle Tom—but—I—am—going—” 

And with that, she flew down the road, with 
Alice at her heels. The two girls, hot, breathless 
and tired after a mile and a half’s run, tumbled into 
the stable yard. 

Joe was playing mumble-de-peg near the stable 
door, and at the sight of the two girls, he sprang 
to his feet in alarm. 

“What’s happened—where are the horses? Are 
you hurt? Anybody killed?” 

The two girls flopped down on the ground and 
with a long drawn sigh of great relief, Flopsy an¬ 
swered, “No, they are all right. They are tied 
to a fence in front of a farmhouse miles up the road. 
This road. You can easily find them.” 

Without another word, Joe flew into the stable, 





ALICE , FLOPSY AND TWO HORSES 131 


got a horse and dashed up the road amid a cloud of 
dust. 

“They surely can go like old Harry,” Flopsy 
commented, as they watched the vanishing Joe. 



Chapter Six 


Alice Holt Spends the Night and Flopsy Hears 

of a Plan 

M RS. HOLT did not come back to the old 
farmhouse until long after supper. Flopsy 
was anxiously waiting her return. She 
wanted Alice to spend the night with her at Emerald 
Lake. Aunt Alicia and Aunt Georgie were quite 
willing to say “yes” but they felt that it really was 
not their place to say it. Mrs. Holt smiled down 
at the two eager faces that met her on her return. 

“We have millions of things to talk about.” Flopsy 
was all aglow. “We haven’t told each other any¬ 
thing . And, I have not seen Alice for ages!” 

“Well—” Mrs. Holt spoke somewhat drily, “I 
hope your cottage walls are thicker than most, for 
I can see right now that Mrs. and Mr. Moore will 
have small opportunity to sleep—with the chatter, 
chatter.” Then she smiled. “Yes, I suppose when 
Uncle Tom takes Flopsy over to Emerald Lake 
tonight, he can leave Alice and call for her in the 
morning.” 

“Oh boy!” the two girls shouted in unison. And 
then, realizing that they had said the same thing at 
the same time, they pressed one thumb against the 
other’s and took a wish. “Horses!” shouted Alice, 

132 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 133 


“Nuts!” groaned Flopsy. She should have said 
“horses” too, or the wish wouldn’t come true. 

“Nuts —is right! You’d think you would have 
thought of horses,” Alice snickered, “after this after¬ 
noon!” 

Mrs. Holt stood at the side of the car as the two 
girls got into the front seat with Uncle Tom. She 
looked worried. 

“Now, Tom, for heaven’s sake, be careful, I beg 
of you. I have just heard some of the high spots of 
this afternoon and they made my hair stand on end. 
I want Alice to learn to ride, but I would never pick 
out anyone as feather-brained as you, my darling 
brother, to teach her.” 

Uncle Tom grinned broadly. “You didn’t hear 
that those girls were riding —did you? I never would 
have called it riding—they were merely weighing 
down two poor old nags for a few minutes.” 

“Drive slowly! Carefully! Cautiously!” Mrs. 
Holt called after him. 

The two girls ignored Uncle Tom. They had 
many things to talk over. In the dark, they could 
not see the fun dancing in his eyes. 

Flopsy burst into a picturesque and exaggerated 
account of the night Dottie had spent with her. Alice 
enjoyed it enormously as both girls had always 
agreed that Dottie was a “big scared cat.” 

“I hope you don’t get an idea in your head that 
there are bullfrogs in the next room.” Flopsy laughed 
foolishly and in high good humor. 

“In the next room?” Uncle Tom put in. There 
was mockery in his voice. “In the next room? Well, 
Flopsy you are losing a rare chance. You should 
not have told this to Alice—you should have put a 



134 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


frog right in her bed. That’s the ticket. That’s 
what we used to do at camp—a small frog would 
do—or a mess of tadpoles—or even a toad. Of 
course, you can’t go ahead with this little trick now 
because Alice would be looking for something. It is 
only a scream when the person is surprised.” 

“Well,” Flopsy giggled, “it wouldn’t be too funny, 
because I have to sleep in that bed too. And anyway 
I’d pass out if I ever touched a frog.” She shud¬ 
dered. 

“Horses, frogs, tadpoles and toads—all out! I’ll 
try to think of some kind of an animal to really give 
you a big laugh—” 

“Oh, Alice, I just thought of something. Speaking 
of camps made me think of it. I got a long, won¬ 
derful letter from Babbie. She’s up at a camp in 
Maine. And what do you think she told me? She 
said I could call Miss Hilton— Molly! And how 
do you like that?” 

Alice did not like it at all. Although Flopsy 
could barely see Alice’s face she knew from the 
edge in her voice when she spoke, just what her 
expression was. 

“I think it would be just plain every day fresh 
if you did.” 

“Oh, I don’t, Alice, not if she asked me to,” 
Flopsy protested. To herself, she thought, “She’s 
jealous—that’s all.” 

“Well, I still think it would be fresh. ‘Molly’ 
is a nickname, anyway, and it would be awful to call 
your teacher by her nickname. I’d never call her 
‘ M oily’— never! ” 

“She didn’t ask you to—” Flopsy said, and quite 




FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 135 


to herself. “And, why do you always have to get 
snippy?” she added, still to herself. 

Aloud she spoke smoothly. She did not want to 
start an argument. 

“Babbie asked about you. She said David Stewart 
liked you and me.” This, Flopsy felt, ought to 
soothe Alice and keep her from getting too mean. 

“You have a nerve calling him— David.” But 
Alice laughed as she once again reproved Flopsy. 
Her laugh was good-natured. She was pleased that 
she had been included in the letter. “I hope we are 
invited to the wedding. I only went to one wedding 
—I was a flower girl—and that was ages ago.” 

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful! I never thought 
of it. I never even went to a wedding.” Flopsy’s 
eyes were luminous in the dark. “I’d love it. They 
ought to ask us, oughtn’t they, Alice, because we 
were such good friends of Dav—Captain Stewart, I 
mean — an d of Miss Hilton?” Excited as Flopsy 
was she did remember in time not to call Captain 
Stewart, David, again. She did not care to have 
Alice squelch her. “Squelching is one of the best 
things, Alice does,” she thought to herself. “Per¬ 
haps,” she went on aloud, “that was part of the plan 

Miss Hilton has for me.” 

“What plan?” Alice picked her up quickly. 

Flopsy could have bitten off her tongue. Why 
had she mentioned the plan to Alice. It had been 
such fun imagining all sorts of lovely things it might 
be. Alice never let her imagination run riot the way 
she let hers. Alice was always practical and down to 

earth. 

“Oh, nothing, just a plan. I don’t know what it 



136 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


is. She didn’t say—” Flopsy faltered. Oh, dear, 
suppose Alice threw cold water all over her bright 
hopes and spoiled them altogether! 

“Don’t be so mysterious, Flopsy Moore. What 
plan?” Alice persisted. 

Poor Flopsy, never in her life had she been able 
to keep a secret for long, never had she been able to 
resist Alice when she was determined to get an an¬ 
swer to her questioning. 

“Oh—Babbie said Miss Hilton had a plan for 
me—” Flopsy blurted out, with a sinking feeling. 
“She’s going to write mother about it.” 

“OH!” was all that Alice said. It was enough. 
It was a large “Oh,” it had a world of meaning in it. 
Flopsy’s heart went down to her boots. Alice asked 
no more questions about the plan. She was going 
to show Flopsy that she wasn’t in the least inter¬ 
ested. 

“You should see Fleurette Muldoon’s mother. 
I met her the other day at the store. She’s dyed 
her hair a fiery red. She looks like a freak, if you 
ask me.” Alice broke a painful silence with an al¬ 
most as painful comment. She knew that this re¬ 
mark would in all probability annoy Flopsy a lit¬ 
tle. Flopsy always stood up for Fleurette and her 
mother. 

“I didn’t ask you,” Flopsy retorted. “And, any¬ 
way she didn’t dye her hair. It was a permanent 
wave that turned it that color.” Flopsy’s voice shook 
with indignation. “How do you get that way? I 
have red hair and I am not a freak.” 

“A permanent wave! I am laughing!” and Alice 
laughed. “I suppose that’s one of Fleurette’s goofy 
stories you fell for?” 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 137 


“Now, hey there! ” Uncle Tom protested. “Meow 
—Me-ow. What a precious pair of cats you two 
girls are! I expect to have you scratching each 
other next. I am getting very uneasy. Me-ow— 
ME-OW!” his prolonged me-ow amounted to a 
piercing wail. The two girls laughed in spite of 
themselves. After all they really did not want to 
spat. They were out for a good time. 

“Say Flops, I heard that you had Janet up here.” 
Alice’s voice was friendly again. 

Flopsy shivered. Oh, dear! From bad to worse. 
She did not want to discuss Janet Dudley’s visit 
under any circumstance. She wondered if Janet had 
met Alice in the last week. What had Janet said 
about her day at Emerald Lake? 

“Have you seen Janet?” Flopsy ventured, fearful 

of the answer. 

“Oh yes, for one minute. She’s getting very high 
hat. She’s changed an awful lot this summer. She 
says you had a simply adorable girl up here as a 

friend. She raved and raved.” 

Flopsy drew a long deep breath of thankfulness. 
Janet’s “raving” about Diana would annoy Alice, 
she knew. Alice thought Janet was wonderful and 
it would make her jealous to hear her rave about 
another girl. Now, Flopsy reasoned, Alice would 
surely be on her side, as far as Diana and Janet were 
concerned. To make sure she decided to rub it in 
as much as she could. 

“Oh, yes, Janet was simply wild about Diana. 
She thought she was precious, darling, wonderful, 
marvelous. And, when she found that Diana’s 
aunts had all gone to the same private school Janet 
is going to in the fall, why she—” 



138 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Oh, nuts!” Alice snorted. “Janet’s getting to be 
a pain in the neck.” 

Flopsy was delighted on all scores. This was 
too perfect. She felt like hugging Alice. She com¬ 
pletely forgot their earlier skirmish. She had 
squirmed every time she thought of Alice and Janet’s 
meeting after that day at Emerald Lake and that 
visit to the hotel. Now, she didn’t need to give it 
another thought. 

“By jinks!” Uncle Tom exploded. “Don’t tell 
me that Janet is going to be put on the pan now? 
Me-ow-ow—” and then he gave a very vivid like¬ 
ness of two cats spitting and fighting on the back 
fence. The girls were now in high good humor and 
they laughed uproariously. 

“Say, girls, in all seriousness what are you going 
to say about me when my back is turned and I leave 
you behind?” He made his voice suddenly high and 
squeaky in mocking imitation of two girls. “Well, 
if Uncle Tom had to dye his hair—why did he have 
to pick out that sappy looking color?—And my, did 
you notice how high hat he is about it, his nose is 
always turned up?” 

They were still laughing when they saw the lights 
of the Moore’s cottage. The headlights from Uncle 
Tom’s car lit up the road way ahead of them. 

“Goodness!” Flopsy exclaimed as they got nearer. 
“We have company again. I bet a cookie that it is 
Mr. Forbes. I hope he hasn’t brought Bill with him 
this time. ’ There was an insincere ring in Flopsy’s 
voice. 

“Oh!” Alice chirped up, with a note of excitement. 
“Does Bill Forbes come here? And does he bring 
up the other boys, Milton and Frank?” 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 139 


“You are just going right back with your Uncle 
Tom, aren’t you honey, if there are going to be 
boys around?” Uncle Tom patted his niece on the 
arm solicitously. 

The girls giggled. 

“Bill Forbes was up here one day,” Flopsy an¬ 
swered laughing, “But he didn’t bring any of the 
boys with him. Did you hope he’d bring Frank?” 
Flopsy teased. 

The two girls left Uncle Tom with scant cere¬ 
mony. They dashed towards the cottage after they 
had left the car, and banged its door. 

“Don’t come too early in the morning for me!” 

Alice shouted. 

“Hey, that’s mean of you,” he called after her. 
“I wanted to get up at dawn and come for you.” 

Alice laughed but she did not turn back to an¬ 
swer. She knew that her Uncle Tom was the laziest 
man in the world and hated getting out of bed at 
any reasonable hour. 

When the two girls burst into the living room, 
they were surprised to see Mrs. Moore sitting by a 
lamp reading. She was quite alone. 

“Who is here?” Flopsy burst out after she had 
kissed her mother, and her mother in turn had 
greeted Alice. “And where’s Daddy?” 

Mrs. Moore smiled and put her finger in a si¬ 
lencing gesture to her lips. “Listen. 

From the company room came the weirdest snort¬ 
ing and croaking. Flopsy recognized it at once. 

“Mr. Forbes—Mr. Forbes! That’s the way he 
snores Alice, don’t you remember I told you about 
it.” She snickered. “But why did he go to bed so 

early?” 



140 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“He and Daddy are going off tomorrow morning 
at four-thirty. And it’s not so early, my darling 
daughter. It is nearly half past eleven. I was just 
beginning to worry about you. How about having 
a glass of milk and a piece of cake or some cookies 
and scooting off to bed. Don’t make a face Flopsy 
—take ginger ale—I know what a crank you are 
about milk—” 

Mrs. Moore and the two girls went out into the 
kitchen, and for the next half hour between gulps 
of ginger ale or milk, or mouthfuls of cake the girls 
giggled out their story of their experience as riders. 

“Ah!” Mrs. Moore ejaculated with a smile. “It 
seems to me that I recall someone—could it be you, 
Flopsy—saying that riding a horse was easy—noth¬ 
ing to it? And, Babbie needn’t teach you anything 
—you were going to do all the teaching.” 

Flopsy grinned sheepishly and decided that this 
moment was better than most for going to bed. She 
was eager anyway to get into bed for she and Alice 
had decided to talk all night. Alice had a lot to 
tell Flopsy about the teachers they were to have 
when they went to the high school in the fall. She 
had met a sophomore—and she had heard “plenty” 
from her. 

“We might as well talk,” Flopsy whispered as 
they got into bed. “If ou can’t possibly sleep with 
Mr. Forbes making all that hulabaloo.” 

“Well,” began Alice with a relish, “Louise 
Schultz—she’s the sophomore I met—said that the 
freshman English teacher is M^iss Weston and she 
looks just, like a doll and she’s very young. She 
lets the kids get away with murder—they can do 
anything! They yell and laugh and make an awful 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 141 


racket but she never gets mad, she just stands and 
stares at the class and says, ‘Oh, dear, what will I do?’ 
Louise says she is a riot. You have a swell time in 
her class and you never learn a thing!” 

“That must be swell,” Flopsy put in. 

“And then there is Miss Wilson. She teaches 
algebra and Louise says she wears a WIG!” 

“Who wears a wig—Louise or the Miss Wilson?” 
Flopsy asked trying to be funny. She had snuggled 
down into the bed with a sigh of contentment. She 
felt as though she were up to some real mischief. 
She knew very well that at this point, her mother 
would end the conversation with, “Now, Flopsy, 
that’s not nice or kind and stop it at once.” 

“Don’t be silly!” Alice snickered. “Miss Wilson, 
of course—the kids say when she gets excited she 
pushes the wig back and forth—once she pushed it 
so far back on her forehead that Louise got terribly 
nervous, she was sure it was coming off altogether. 
Then there’s a Miss Whoosit or something, and 
the shop teacher has an awful case on her, he keeps 
coming into her room and talking and Miss Whoosit 
looks up into his face with a soupy expression. And 
then she walks to the door with him and sings like 
this, ‘See-you-to-ni-^A//’ ” Alice mocked wickedly. 

On and on and on went this conversation for 
two hours. The girls had pulled the bed clothes 
over their heads so as not to be heard. Mr. Forbes 
snores proved to be very helpful as no sound in 
the cottage had much chance of being heard above 

them. . 

“I hope I see this wonderful Miss Diana Dean 

in the morning.” Alice changed the subject abruptly. 
“I’ll just act as though I were Mrs. Astor or Mrs. 



142 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Rockefeller. I can be very snippy if I want to be— 
she won’t dare show off in front of me.” 

Flopsy heartily agreed with Alice on one point— 
she certainly could be as snippy as anyone she had 
ever seen. 

“Oh, you will see her all right—she’s all over 
the place,” Flopsy promised. She would enjoy see¬ 
ing Alice with Diana. At this point Flopsy sud¬ 
denly remembered that she had not told Alice about 
Bill Forbes’ visit. She burst into it and talked 
twenty minutes without a break. 

“I like Fleurette—” she concluded, and with a 
faintly apologetic air, added, “but she can be a 
crazy nut, just the same.” Flopsy waited for a sec¬ 
ond. She fully expected Alice to pounce down her 
throat, with a snort of agreement. She was already 
surprised that she had managed to get this far in 
her story without a few sarcastic remarks from Alice. 
But she had had to tell about Bill and she could 
not relate the experiences of that day and leave 
Fleurette out of it. It would take more skillful ma¬ 
neuvering than she was capable of. Alice did not an¬ 
swer. Alice remained silent on Fleurette for the first 
time since the girls had met nearly a year and a half 
before. It’s a miracle, Flopsy thought. She sat up 
in bed and looked down upon Alice intently. Alice 
was sound asleep! She had not apparently heard one 
word of this story. And, probably it was just as well. 

The next thing Flopsy knew was that the blazing 
morning sun was streaming into her eyes and mak¬ 
ing them blink. Alice, at almost the self same mo¬ 
ment, opened her eyes. The two girls smiled and 
then stretched. 

“Oh,” Flopsy gasped, “I am paralyzed. I can’t 




FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 143 


move. I bet I’ve got infantile paralysis!” She 
groaned in horror at the thought. 

“Well, if you have, you gave it to me, I can’t 
move either!” Alice exclaimed in alarm. “Let’s 
stand up and see if we can walk.” 

The two girls fell out of bed and stood on their 
feet. 

“Oh—o-e-o,” Flopsy wailed, “isn’t it awful? I 
am all pains. But I can stand up, at least.” 

“Heavens!” Alice squealed. “I can’t get my knees 
together, it darn near kills me, Flopsy. You try it.” 

Flopsy promptly tried it and moaned. 

“Oh, we are going to be bowlegged for life, I 
bet. Mother!” she yelled lustily. “Come here 
quick—please!” 

Mrs. Moore came to the door and opened it. Her 
eyes went wide with blank surprise at the sight that 
met her eyes. The two girls were trying to walk 
about the room—and were walking bandylegged, 
and groaning as they moved. 

“Whatever in the world?” she gasped. Then 
she laughed until the tears came to her eyes. She 
leaned against the door jam to steady herself. 

Flopsy stood still and stared at her mother in 
amazement and reproach. Whatever could be so 
funny? She and Alice were suffering acutely and 
her mother said or did nothing but laugh. A thought 
came to Alice suddenly and she too burst out laugh¬ 
ing and fell back on the bed, rolling over and over 
in her mirth. 

Flopsy fixed her eyes first on her mother’s face 
and then on Alice. Well, what was it all about, 

anyway? 

“Oh, Flopsy!” Mrs. Moore’s eyes were twinkling 



144 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


with keen amusement. “Have you forgotten that 
you went horse back riding for the first time in your 
life yesterday? And, just wait until you sit down—” 

Then Flopsy laughed, but not gaily. At the 
moment it didn’t strike her as the funniest thing 
she had ever heard in her whole life, because she 
really did hurt. 

“It’s too bad your father isn’t here—he would 
have a wonderful time teasing you.” 

From then on the two girls amused themselves 
exaggerating their aches and pains. They groaned 
and moaned and giggled. 

After breakfast was over, and the housework 
done they went out on the lawn near the cottage 
and put on the best act they could under the cir¬ 
cumstances. They walked about very bowlegged, 
with their hands pressed on their knees, and let out 
loud lamentations as they moved in this curious 
position. Frankie and Dickie rolled over and over 
on the grass convulsed with laughter. 

Suddenly they heard the prolonged toot of an 
automobile horn. Flopsy stood still and looked 
about. Her silly expression changed at once to 
dismay. A roadster was parked not far from them 
and Diana Dean was hanging out of it laughing her 
head off. She was with Andy Norton—a boy of 
seventeen, who had been steadily trying—and had 
succeeded—in getting Flopsy’s “goat” ever since 
she had been at Emerald Lake. 

“Oh, the dickens!” Flopsy snapped and gave Alice 
a warning look. 

Alice stood stock still and stared. 

“It’s Diana Dean,” Flopsy hissed in Alice’s ear. 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 145 


“Hi there!” Diana called gaily. “That’s a cute 
game you were playing. What do you call it? I 
am the roving photographer this morning. I took 
a snapshot of it, do you mind?” Diana held up a 
camera. “I was on my way over to the village to 
have the roll developed and I just had one picture 
left. I promised to take the first interesting thing I 

saw—” 

Flopsy walked slowly towards the car with a dis¬ 
gusted look on her face. Alice did not move she 
was still staring. 

“Who is your pal?” Diana laughed. Flopsy did 
look so funny in her annoyance. Andy shot her a 
wide grin as he started the engine running. 

“You wouldn’t like to shoot us would you, Flopsy, 
or break the camera?” he taunted. 

“Alice Holt,” Flopsy answered Diana crossly, 

and ignored Andy completely. 

Diana nodded towards Alice, and called back over 
her shoulder, “Hello Alice Holt, I’ve heard a lot 
about you.” 

Alice nodded in her stiffest, snippiest manner— 
but it was lost on Diana, for the car was now tearing 
down the road. 

Flopsy walked back to Alice and sat down with¬ 
out a word. She put her hands about her knees, 
and remained grimly silent for a few minutes. Alice 
followed her example. Flopsy rolled her eyes around. 

“How do you like— THAT?” Flopsy snorted. 

“Just ducky!” Alice said dryly. 

“And, you were going to meet her like Mrs. 
Astor! Imagine Mrs. Astor’s walking around bow- 
legged. I ask you!” 



146 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“I should have said I was going to meet her like 
Mrs. Astor’s horse.” 

Both girls laughed—but not heartily. They had 
heard funnier jokes. They were thinking of Janet 
Dudley. She would laugh heartily all right, all 
right, when she heard it. 

“I don’t think she’ll ever see Janet again—” 
Alice looked after the car which was now only a dot 
in the distance. She was trying to cheer herself and 
Flopsy. 

“You— hope!” Flopsy said with emphasis. 

“But Janet did tell me that she was going to spend 
the month of August with a cousin at Narragansett 
—and it’s almost August now.” 

“Oh—that reminds me—we are going home soon 
ourselves. Why, in a week,” Flopsy exclaimed. “It 
doesn’t seem possible. Now, don’t let’s think of 
Diana again. Let’s have some fun. We can go in 
swimming right now—when that smarty Diana is 
down in the village. She annoys me when I am in 
swimming at the same time she is.” 

The girls jumped to their feet and dashed for 
the cottage. Flopsy was in a very warm and gen¬ 
erous mood at that moment as far as Alice was 
concerned. She let her have her best, new, and cher¬ 
ished bathing suit, while she herself took the old 
faded one. 

They were just out of the water and were walk¬ 
ing up towards the cottage when they heard the 
toot of Uncle Tom’s car. He sat back and stared 
at the two girls in amazement, when it came for 
the moment of good-byes and parting. He could 
scarcely believe his eyes. Only the night before he 
had been almost afraid to leave them together. He 





FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 147 


had had visions of their eating each other up and now 
they were saying farewells, for all the world like 
two loving and devoted friends about to be torn 
from each other by a cruel fate. 

“Well, you’ve got me stopped!” he exclaimed 
but didn’t explain. Nor did they care a rap what he 
said or thought for they were too overcome with the 
overpowering thought that they would not see each 
other for a week. 

Flopsy was stiff and lame for the rest of the day 
and in no very good humor. She decided that she 
longed to go straight home—she had all of Emerald 
Lake she wanted. And she was not looking for¬ 
ward to meeting Diana again. Not on a bet! 

She followed her mother around, remarking 
every few minutes, a I am tired of Emerald Lake. 

There are no girls here my age.” 

“Well, Flopsy,” Mrs. Moore commented dryly, 
“if you could suggest just what I could do about 
it at a moment’s notice—perhaps I could help you 
a little.” 

The next morning Flopsy tore out of the cottage 
in a panic, she was so afraid that she might run into 
Diana. She was going for the mail alone. When she 
got to the post office the first person she saw was 
Diana, but as she saw her first, she took precious 
good care that Diana did not see her. 

There were no letters at all for her this morning, 
but there were several for her mother. As she 
glanced them over her eyes opened wide with sur¬ 
prise. One letter was from Maine. Printed in one 
corner was “Camp of White Pines.” Miss Hilton! 
Miss Hilton had written her mother. Diana could 



148 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


go and sit on a tack, what did she care about her now? 
Her feet had wings as she flew up the road. 

The moment she had waited for all these weeks 
was at hand. Now, she would know “the plan.” Oh, 
if she could only open the letter on the way—but 
she had better not. It was addressed to her mother 
—but it was about her. It had to be about her! 

Mrs. Moore did not hold her in suspense for long 
—she sat right down and tore the envelope almost 
as eagerly as Flopsy might. For Flopsy’s excite¬ 
ment was electric. 

Dear Mrs. Moore (she read aloud), 

At last, I am able to write you fully of the plan 
that Babbie and I have been cherishing for Flopsy 
all summer. I don’t think my young sister could have 
stood the suspense much longer— 

“Nor someone else I know,” Mrs. Moore put in 
with a smile. 

“Please, mother, I can’t breathe,” Flopsy im¬ 
plored. 

It seemed (Mrs. Moore continued reading) a bit 
silly to speak of it at all until I could write and tell just 
what it was all about. But I am sure you will under¬ 
stand when I say that the delay can be blamed on some 
people none of us know. 

Flopsy’s eyes were fairly popping out of her head. 
Couldn’t her mother read faster? 

We want so much to have Flopsy come up here to 
Maine and spend two weeks at the camp. The delay 
in telling this has been due to the fact that Babbie did 
so want Flopsy in her particular shack. And, I am sure 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 149 


Flopsy would enjoy it more, too. One of the girls 
has been threatening right along to leave camp for 
two weeks and visit relatives in Portland. But her rela¬ 
tives, with the perversity relatives sometimes show, 
had not set the date for this visit—until an hour ago. 

It is all signed and sealed. She is going to be in Port¬ 
land the second and third weeks of August. So that 
leaves an empty bed in Babbie’s shack. And, Mrs. 
Moore, Babbie begs you to let Flopsy come. Please! 
Please! 

“I can’t hear any more—I am too thrilled!” 
Flopsy jumped up and flew to her mother’s side and 
tossed off light and glancing kisses over the top of 
her mother’s hair. If she could have got the whole 
wide world into a small enough space she would 
have kissed it too. “Mother, mother, isn’t it won¬ 
derful!” her voice quivered with ecstasy. 

Mrs. Moore took her daughter’s hand and pat¬ 
ted it in sympathy. She was sharing all of Flopsy’s 
j 0 y— s he understood this moment of rapture. Her 
eyes were glistening with bright tears of happiness. 
She had been so anxious that Flopsy would not have 
any disappointment—and that all her rosy di earns 
and high hopes would not be shattered. 

“Sit down, dear. The letter is not finished. You 
really ought to listen to it. Miss Hilton means 
this for you as well as for me.” 

“I’ll try to listen,” Flopsy promised vaguely. 

We have just fallen heir (Mrs. Moore continued 
reading) to a very nice little fortune, and it will be 
the greatest pleasure to send Flopsy her tickets to and 

from Maine. Please do let me! 

We hope Flopsy can take the Bar Harbor Express 
on Wednesday, the eighth of August. I have been 



150 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


planning all summer on taking Babbie over to Portland 
so she may see the ocean for the first time—so I feel 
this would be as good a time as any. We can meet 
Flopsy at the train in Portland. 

Now, about clothes. She will need but few. She can 
bring her gym bloomers and some middies—this is 
more or less a regulation costume at the camp. Shorts 
for warm days, a bathing suit, and a number of sweat¬ 
ers—for it gets very cold sometimes after the sun goes 
down. Then, maybe a poncho—and of course, rub¬ 
bers or rain boots. A little summer dress for Sun¬ 
days . . . 

Flopsy jumped up again. 

“I catch on to the idea. Don’t read any more 
mother. Let’s talk about it—or I will explode. We 
have so much to talk about.” 

Mrs. Moore smiled warmly. She shook her head 
with amusement. “Yes, we may as well talk—but 
the last part of this letter is very important to me, 
my darling daughter—if I am to get you off to 
Maine in shipshape and in order.” 

Flopsy had said “we” must talk, which strictly 
speaking was very far from what she meant. She 
meant—let me talk. She chattered incessantly and 
went around in circles. 

“Mother!” she exclaimed after an hour of rattling 
on and on. Her face was very serious at the mo¬ 
ment. “Mother,” she repeated solemnly, “I want 
to ask you something very important. Do you think 
I ought to call Miss Hilton— Molly? Do you 
really?” 

“What do you think about it, honey? How do 
you feel about it?” Mrs. Moore asked quietly. 
“Well,” a shadow fell over Flopsy’s face, “I 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 151 


don’t know. Somehow, I don’t want to. You are 
my mother. I don’t want to call you by your first 
name. And Miss Hilton is my teacher—the only 
teacher I ever loved. She is Miss Hilton to me. And, 
when I get to be one hundred—she will still be Miss 
Hilton—” Flopsy’s voice broke. 

Mrs. Moore nodded. “Yes, I see how you feel, 
my darling child, and you might tell Miss Hilton 
how you feel—if she asks you again. She will un¬ 
derstand too, I am sure and will be satisfied.” 

Mrs. Moore wondered during the course of the 
day, if Flopsy might come down to earth at any 
time during the next two weeks—or whether she 
would remain blissfully perched on her rosy cloud. 
After all there were pretty important every day 
things to be done. For one thing—they were still 
at Emerald Lake, and she knew well from past ex¬ 
perience that the “take off” from a summer cottage 
could be very complicated and confused. The prob¬ 
lems that Flopsy had presented every few moments 
were not particularly helpful or constructive. 

“Mother!” she called as she was setting the table 
for dinner. “What was your mother’s first name— 
grandma’s name?” 

“Why?” Mrs. Moore asked in surprise. “Well, 
it was Hortense—Hortense Dexter.” 

Flopsy frowned as she laid the cutlery about the 
table. 

“What was daddy’s mother’s name?” she asked 
after a pause. 

“Her name, I believe was Clara. Clara Drake, 
before she was married. Whatever have you on 
your mind now?” 

Flopsy’s frown deepened. 



152 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Hortense! Clara!” she repeated to herself. She 
didn’t like either. She didn’t care much for her 
mother’s name. It was Charlotte—and her father 
called her Lottie—and made fun of it. 

“Mother, haven’t we any cute, pretty, snappy 
names in our family?” she beseeched. “Tell me all 
you know.” 

“Whatever are you up to? What on earth is on 
your mind?” Mrs. Moore repeated. But she called 
some more names as she busied herself getting the 
dinner. 

“Well, there’s Aunt Ellen, but we called her 
Nellie. And Aunt Carrie. And Daddy had a sis¬ 
ter, Mary, but he called her Minnie—” 

Flopsy shuddered. “Worse and worse!” Flopsy 
groaned from the other room. “I never heard of a 
family that had just plain names. Or if they were 
half way decent—they made them ugly.” 

“Please let me in on your secret. Perhaps I 
could help you.” 

“Well, I have decided on something. I am sick 
and tired of the name ‘Flopsy.’ I want to change it 
when I get to, camp. And, I thought it would be 
nice if I took a name that was ‘in the family.’ I have 
heard people talk about ‘names being in the family. 5 
I wanted Babbie to tell all the girls my new name 
before I get there. I would write her about it right 
away. I wanted a cute, darling name that would 
make them think I was a cute girl. Now, I guess, 
I’ll have to think up a name by myself.” She sighed. 

“That is a serious problem!” Mrs. Moore com¬ 
mented dryly. “And, I suppose you have quite made 
up your mind that Babbie has never mentioned her 
friend ‘Flopsy’ to the girls about her. You are be- 



FLOPSY HEARS OF A PLAN 153 


ing very humble and modest if you think that! 
Somehow, I feel that Babbie has talked about you 
a great deal.” 

“Yes,” Flopsy’s eyes brightened, “I bet she has. 

I bet she has talked and talked about me. Maybe— 
raved about me! I guess, I won’t change my name 
after all—” 

“This last guess, is more like you, Flopsy Moore. 
It is more like you to—well—” Mrs. Moore laughed 
and did not finish. She didn’t want to say “brag a 
little.” 

A short time later Flopsy’s mind, grasshopper fash¬ 
ion, leaped to another problem. 

“Mother!” her brow was furrowed. “I just 

thought of something else.” 

“What is it now—?” Mrs. Moore asked patiently. 

“If Babbie has talked and talked about me—I’d 
hate to have those girls see my bathrobe. It’s 
everything—worn out—and faded. And my bed¬ 
room slippers are a sight. And, I bet the girls 
wouldn’t think my pajamas were cute either!” 

“Flopsy, my dear, trust me please. I am not go¬ 
ing to let you go away a thing of shreds and patches, 
Mrs. Moore shook her head. “Since Miss Hilton 
has been kind enough to get your tickets, I think 
your daddy and I can manage to send off our only 
daughter on her first real visit away from us, in a 
fashion so as to be a credit to the Moore name.” 

That night after Flopsy got into bed she called 
her mother to her. She sat up in bed and pulled her 
mother down holding her very warm and tight. 

“You are very happy, aren’t you, my darling?” 

“Oh, yes, oh, yes!” Flopsy’s voice broke suspi¬ 
ciously. 



154 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Mrs. Moore patted her daughter’s head. “You 
will have lovely dreams, tonight I am sure.” 

“I never went away from you for two weeks be¬ 
fore, I never went away for two days—” Flopsy 
said in a still small voice. 

Mrs. Moore sat down on the bed. 

“Flopsy, do you remember Dottie Green—you 
aren’t going back on us are you?” she asked lightly. 
“I thought you were eager to go to Maine. You 
remember, that you thought Dottie was—baby—” 

“Oh, I am! I am! I’d just die if I couldn’t go—” 
Flopsy broke in on her mother. “But I just this 
minute thought I’d never been away from you so 
long. I’d never, never be such a baby as Dottie was 
—NEVER!” 

“So I imagined.” Mrs. Moore spoke crisply. She 
leaned over and kissed Flopsy again. Somehow, she 
sensed this would be her daughter’s first and last 
moment of homesickness. She knew full well how 
determined Flopsy could be when she wanted any¬ 
thing, and she knew that she wanted to go to Maine 
and see Babbie more than anything else in the 
world. “Happy dreams!” she added. And, they 
were happy—bright—and as lovely, gay and con¬ 
fused as a crazy quilt made without a pattern. 



Chapter Seven 

Flopsy Takes a Journey 

F OREVER after, when Flopsy looked back 
upon that last week at Emerald Lake, she 
never could figure out just where it had gone. 
She had imagined right after she received the invi¬ 
tation to Maine that the time before her departure 
would be endless. But it disappeared before she 
knew it. There were countless things to be done 
so many arrangements to be made. Her mother 
wrote to Miss Hilton, Babbie wrote to Flopsy, and 
Flopsy wrote to both. 

The most surprising thing of all was that that last 
week at Emerald Lake was a very happy one. And, 
in the end she almost regretted leaving it, in spite 
of the bright promise ahead of her. Diana Dean 
had given a big party around their huge out-of-door 
fireplace, and had invited all the young people. She 
had suggested to Flopsy that she could ask Janet 
to come. But Alice Holt had written that the Dudley 
home was all shut up, and no one knew where they 
had gone. It was with great relief and satisfaction 
that she imparted this information to Diana. And, 
it was with as keen a satisfaction that she heaici 
Diana’s own information. That snap shot that she 
had taken of Alice and Flopsy was a blur. 

«It’s impossible to tell who, which, what or where 

it is!” Diana said with a laugh. 

155 


156 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“That breaks my heart!” Flopsy answered with 
a grin. 

The longest, the most endless period of that whole 
two weeks was that last hour before the Bar Harbor 
Express drew in at the depot at Portland, Maine. 
Flopsy had never been on a sleeper before, and 
like almost every one who travels on one for the 
first time, she wondered why they were called 
“sleepers.” She decided that they ought to be called 
“wide-awakers.” Most of the night she was peer¬ 
ing out into the whirling, blurry darkness, which 
was occasionally lightened by the lamps of a depot. 
She felt very grown-up and experienced traveling 
alone and at night. 

When the darkness began to disappear in the gray 
light of dawn she was thrilled by the strangeness of 
it all. She was now looking out upon scenery many 
miles from home, and she was farther from hei 
family and home than she had ever been in her 
whole life. She felt as though she had traveled half 
around the world. She would not have been too 
surprised if she had seen some llamas from South 
America wandering about, or the minarets of Turkey 
—or Chinese coolies pulling rickshaws. There was 
nothing particularly fantastic or foreign in the land¬ 
scape that met her eyes, but she felt it ought to be 
different, because she herself felt so strange. 

Although she had had no sleep to speak of, she 
was wide awake and intoxicated with excitement 
when the train pulled into Portland. She had been 
ready for a long time to get off, and was in fact 
the first person in her car to get to the platform. 
Her heart was pounding to the tune of the puffing 
engine, and almost as loudly. Supposing? Suppos- 



FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 157 


ing? Supposing Miss Hilton was not at the depot? 
Her eyes were wide with fright at the possibility. 
The porter helped her off the train and before this 
dreadful thought had time to strangle her, she felt 
Miss Hilton’s arms about her, and then Babbie’s! 

Babbie grabbed up her suit case and started off 
with it. Miss Hilton stopped her. 

“Now, Babbie don’t show off! You want to im¬ 
press Flopsy with how strong you have grown. That 
suit case is bulging and it looks heavy.” Miss Hilton 
laughed and called a porter. 

“Now, we must have some breakfast and we better 
get it right here in the depot—we don’t want to 
waste time, we want to get back to camp before din¬ 
ner. Miss West the head of the camp loaned us her 
old Chevrolet and we are driving back and we have 
sixty miles to go.” Miss Hilton led the girls to the 
restaurant. 

“How brown you are! How brown Babbie is!” 
Flopsy burst out. She couldn’t get her wits to¬ 
gether. She was chattering. “You look like In¬ 
dians.” 

“And, how freckled you are, Flopsy,” Babbie 
laughed. “They are darling. You look so cute—” 

“If you think I have freckles now, you should have 
seen me the day I came from the lake. This last 
week, they have got a million times fainter.” Flopsy s 
spirits were so high that she did not mind talking 
about her freckles. She did feel so strange. Neither 
Miss Hilton nor Babbie seemed in the least familiar. 
Well, of course she had only seen Babbie once be¬ 
fore in her life, and she had never been with Miss 
Hilton except when they were teacher and pupil. 

While they sat at the table eating their breakfast, 



158 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Babbie began to chatter, and never stopped talking 
for the next hour, except for brief interruptions and 
questions from Flopsy. Her brown eyes were lumi¬ 
nous with excitement and happiness. She had so, so 
much to tell Flopsy. Miss Hilton looked down into 
her small sister’s glowing face and her heart warmed. 
It was so very good to see her so well and such a 
picture of joy and life. 

“Oh, Flopsy we saw the ocean! I never saw it 
before. It thrilled me. We had to take a boat and 
go all around Casco Bay until we came to Orr’s 
Island—and then I saw it! It was beating against 
the stern and rockbound coast just as it is described 
in the song about Thanksgiving. And, we saw Long¬ 
fellow’s home and went all through it,” Babbie said 
all in one long breath. 

“Do eat something, you little chattering magpie! 
You have a long trip ahead of you yet,” Miss Hilton 
warned. 

“Was it near the ocean?” Flopsy asked Babbie, 
scarcely noticing that Miss Hilton had spoken. 

“Oh, no, it’s in Portland. Oh, Flopsy, I must 
tell you about the girls in our shack. But first, you 
mustn’t think a ‘shack’ is a tumble-down thing. It’s 
a darling bungalow all made of logs. It hasn’t glass 
windows, just wooden shutters, we only close when 
it rains—” 

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear about the girls. I am 
bursting to know,” Flopsy begged, for once in her 
life keen to be told things and not the one to do the 
telling. “Please tell me.” 

“Just one minute, girls, wait until you get com¬ 
fortably seated in the car,” Miss Hilton shook her 
head with a rueful laugh. The two girls had scarcely 




FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 159 


eaten anything. She led them to the car and they 
followed as though in a dream. She knew she 
couldn’t expect much of either of them. 

“Now, Babbie, begin—please tell me about the 
girls in our shack,” Flopsy entreated once they were 
seated on the back seat of the Chevrolet. 

“Now, Babbie, go ahead,” Miss Hilton called 
over her shoulder with a teasing laugh. “Talk, talk 
to your heart’s content.” 

“Well—” Babbie began with great relish, “first 
of all, I must tell you our shack has a name. You 
must think it is the best shack in camp. Even bet¬ 
ter than the one Molly is in.” She made a saucy 
little face at her sister’s back. 

“Hey there,” Miss Hilton called. “I don’t re¬ 
member giving you permission to say that!” 

Flopsy thrilled at this jesting. Surely, she must 
think Babbie’s shack was the best in camp—for 
wasn’t she to be in it for two weeks? 

“Tell me, please,” Flopsy begged. Oh, if Babbie 
would only talk faster and faster. 

“Our shack is Tinkerbell. And Molly’s is called 
Robin’s Nest. But don’t ever let her say it’s better 
than ours—” 

Flopsy nodded violently in agreement. 

“Well,” began Babbie again, “we have five girls 
in our shack. Elsie Turnbull was there, but she’s 
away. You heard about her. You are to have her 
cot. And our counsellor is Miss Lindy.” 

“The nicest counsellor in camp that little wretch 
will be telling you next, her very own sister not 
excluded.” Miss Hilton couldn’t resist teasing. 

The girls laughed. And, Flopsy nudged Babbie 
to go on. She was simply dying to hear more. 



160 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“But Miss Lindy is a darling! Her right name 
is Miss Clarinda Campbell. She’s only nineteen. 
She’s so funny sometimes, and she was too, too easy 
at first. We just did anything. I reckon, Miss West 
felt ready to cuss us—” 

“Babbie!” Miss Hilton interrupted. “Miss West 
would just love to hear you say that of her—she’s 
not a cussing cowboy!” 

“Well, I know what people look like when they 
are cussing and she sure did look that way! I 
reckon right down inside her she was.” 

“What did you do?” Flopsy was thrilled. “What 
did you do to make her feel like cussing?” 

“We talked and laughed after ‘taps,’ and we made 
an awful noise during rest hour. Oh, all things 
like that. And when the water was too cold we 
sneaked out of the morning dip. Miss West gave us 
a very nice lecture—the words were nice, but I still 
think she was cussing inside.” 

“And—now you are perfect?” Flopsy asked a 
little disappointed. 

“Oh, goodness, NO!” Miss Hilton turned her 
head again. “Don’t get depressed, Flopsy, with the 
thought that you are going to spend your two weeks 
with little models of perfection. For you are not. 
There is a wide, wide gap between the uproar that 
came out of Tinkerbell those first days and perfect 
peace and quiet.” 

“And it surely riled Marcella Todd those first 
few days, how bad we were. Oh, Flopsy, I thought 
it was such fun. I’d never been bad like that be¬ 
fore—” 

“Who is Marcella Todd?” Flopsy asked quickly. 



FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 161 


“Well,” Babbie drew a long breath, “I reckon, 

I better get going and tell you about the girls. And 
Marcella Todd is a good beginning. We are all 
thirteen years old. Some of us are nearly fourteen. 
Marcella Todd is the nearest to it—and she’s the 
biggest girl by far in the shack. The littlest is 
Tommy Adams. Now, don’t ask about Tommy now 
—I’ll come to her later. I must tell you about Mar¬ 
cella Todd—she’s very, very important. First of 
all, you must never, never dare to call her ‘Mar¬ 
cella’ all by itself. You simply MUST call her 
‘Marcella Todd.’ Her whole name is Marcella 
Todd Townsend. How do you like that?” Babbie 
stopped to permit this to sink in properly. 

“It’s what?” Flopsy squealed. “And you have 
to call her all of that? Did anyone ever try to call 
her ‘Marcella?’ ” 

Babbie laughed. “Tommy called her ‘Toddie 
one day.” 

“What did she do?” Flopsy asked with keen in¬ 
terest. 

“Oh-o-e!” Babbie giggled. “You’d have to know 
Marcella Todd first to imagine—how she looked. 
She didn’t say much! But you got the idea right 
away, that you’d better never, nevei tiy it again. 

“Is she goofy or something?” Flopsy asked in 

genuine amazement. 

“No,” Babbie went on, “but she’s very, very seri¬ 
ous. She cried for two days and two nights when 
she first came to camp. That is partly why we made 
so much hullabaloo. We reckoned if we were silly 
and funny, it would make her laugh and she’d for¬ 
get to be homesick. But she never once laughed. 



162 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


And, she hardly ever does now. And another thing 
you must never, never touch her things. She hates 
that. She’s very neat.” 

“Well,” Flopsy spoke with emphasis, “something 
tells me I won’t like her.” 

“Well, something tells me you won’t either. But 
you have to try. That’s the camp spirit, Miss Lindy 
says. You have to try and like people who are ornery. 
I am trying evqry day to like her. And now I al¬ 
most do—” 

“Now, Flopsy, there is another side to Marcella 
Todd,” Miss Hilton put in. “She’s had a very differ¬ 
ent life from most children. She hasn’t any sisters 
or brothers and she never went to school, she had a 
private tutor—” 

“And Babbie didn’t go to school and she’s not 
like that!” Flopsy looked warmly into Babbie’s face. 
Babbie no longer seemed strange and far away, but 
close and very real. 

“Now, Babbie, tell Flopsy about Tommy,” Miss 
Hilton put in quickly. She didn’t want Flopsy to 
take an active dislike to Marcella Todd, for she 
had a decided picture of her former pupil, when 
she did take a dislike to anyone. 

“Oh, Tommy Adams!” Babbie’s expression 
changed completely. “Oh, you will love her right 
off. She’s so funny and full of life. Oh, Flopsy, 
her father must be a millionaire at least! They have 
a Chinese butler or cook or something—Chinese—” 

“A Chinese rug, possibly?” Miss Hilton put in. 
“What a description! Come, come Babbie, do bet¬ 
ter than that!” 

“We will skip that part,” Babbie said with a gig¬ 
gle. “I have it all mixed up. Anyway, they have 



FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 163 


gardeners, cooks and lots of servants, but she acts as 
though they didn’t have any money. The first few 
days at camp, she wanted to spend all her time help¬ 
ing Peter paint canoes and caulk the rowboats. We 
call her Tommy’ because she is a tomboy. She is 
little and chubby, with short curls all over her head. 
She hates being neat, but she tries to please Mar¬ 
cella Todd and be a good sport about her, but she 
really thinks it’s wicked fun getting in her. hair. 
That’s what I heard Miss Lindy say,” Babbie re¬ 
peated. 

They had now left the beautiful state highway, 
and the old Chevrolet was bumping along over a ter¬ 
rible road, full of ruts made by the snow and ice of 
a severe winter. Babbie’s words were bounced out 
of her and sounded as though she were talking right 
through a bad attack of the hiccoughs. 

“Poor old Sweet Petunia, I hope she lasts through 
until we get to camp,” Miss Hilton fairly wailed. 

“Sweet Petunia—that’s the name of this Chevie, 
Babbie explained. “Everything in camp has a name— 
Oh—!” the two girls bounded up and hit Sweet 

Petunia on her roof. 

“My neck’s broken, but don’t stop,” Babbie gig¬ 
gled. 

“Hold everything!” Miss Hilton warned. 

“And—Flopsy you will like—(hie) Betty Gra¬ 
ham (hie) she’s a good sport—she’s been coming to 
camp for six years— Oh, Glory!” Babbie sput¬ 
tered out as she bounced up and down. So has 
Tommy—(hie).” She was giggling and holding one 

hand on her head. 

“We have four miles of this girls , and if Sweet 
Petunia holds out she’s the best sport in camp! 



164 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“My bacon and eggs are jumping up and down my 
gullet,” Flopsy gasped. “But go on—tell me some 
more.” 

Between “hies,” “Ohs” and giggles, Babbie went 
right on. She was wound up, for never in her short 
life had she had such a golden opportunity. Those 
years when she lay, or sat so quiet and still out on the 
ranch after her accident, she had to hear , or read about 
the life beyond her room, now she was imparting 
news—not receiving it. Things were always happen¬ 
ing in camp every minute and she had been part of 
it all. 

“Oh, glory halleluiah, holy cats!” she burst out 
in the middle of a description of a camp entertain¬ 
ment, as she bounced first to the roof of the car and 
then she and Flopsy, tumbled off their seats onto 
the floor. The two girls lay giggling in a heap. 
Miss Hilton stopped the car. 

“A hospital—or the camp? Which shall I drive 
to?” She turned her head about in alarm. 

“Camp!” Babbie gasped. “Drive on, James!” 

“This was a short cut—I thought!” Miss Hilton 
started the car again, with a sigh. 

“Well—” Babbie drew a long breath after the 
two girls were back upon the seat again. “Well, I 
think Pd rather have a bucking horse than a bucking 
car, any day. Oh, that reminds me, Flopsy, you will 
love the horses we have at camp. I have one special 
one, I make believe it’s mine. Her name is Demon. 
There is one, though, Pve picked out for you. It’s 
the one Elsie Turnbull always rode, but she’s not 
here and you can have it,” Babbie promised eagerly. 
She looked full into Flopsy’s face to see the joy 
that this announcement would give her. To her com- 




FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 165 


plete surprise, there was no joy in the face near her 
own—only blank dismay. 

“I-a—now!” Flopsy faltered. “I don’t think I’ll 
ever learn to ride.” She felt ashamed even as she 
admitted this. “I tried a few weeks ago with Alice 
Holt.” 

“Oh!” Babbie was disappointed. “But you can 
learn, really and truly you can.” 

“Really and truly I can’t, Babbie!” Flopsy shook 
her head ruefully. “But maybe I’ll try, just before 
I go home,” she promised, putting off as far as pos¬ 
sible that dark moment. “And then you will see 
how dumb and nutty I am about horses,” she offered 
with a gallant effort to be a good sport. Evidently, 
from all she had heard “being a good sport” was 
the most important thing about being at camp. 

“Well,” a shadow fell on Babbie’s face, “I sup¬ 
pose you will love the water and the canoes and I 
don’t think I’ll ever like them. It’s funny isn’t it? 
It’s too bad, we couldn’t have liked just the same 
things—but I reckon, it can’t be helped. 

Flopsy did not feel ashamed any longer. There 
was something Babbie couldn’t do eithei but she 
didn’t want Babbie to be sorry though about any¬ 
thing. So she at once told her about her experience 
with a horse—and she told it just as foolishly as she 
could, making it sound too, too silly. She didn t 
care in the least now, if the joke was all on her as 
long as Babbie laughed again. And laugh she did! 
Babbie’s brown eyes were dancing and she had to 

hold her sides with her laughter. 

“Oh, Flopsy!” she looked into Flopsy’s face with 
frank admiration. “You are the funniest person I 

ever, ever knew.” 



166 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Flopsy glowed from head to foot. It was such 
fun having Babbie think she was a “scream.” 

“You can go out in the canoes, I reckon—” 
Babbie said generously. “And lots of the girls 
can’t. You have to first take a canoe test. And 
you will pass, I just know. Maybe you can take 
a canoe trip and stay out over night. The girls 
think it’s wonderful. 

“A canoe test?” Flopsy echoed. 

“Yes—you have to (hie). Oh, dear, the road’s 
getting bumpy (hie) again. You have it in two parts 
(hie). One day, you have to (hie). Oh, Pete! Isn’t 
this AWFUL!” 

“Have to—what?” Flopsy persisted as she 
bounced up and down. 

“—Have to swim around fifteen minutes (hie) 
without touching anything. Oh, glory! Will we ever 
get to camp?” 

“We will, if Sweet Petunia does,” Miss Hilton 
promised. 

“But that’s not all of it (hie) there’s more,” Bab¬ 
bie went on. “The last part is the hardest— Oh— 
but it’s not as hard as this roof!” She and Flopsy 
almost went through the roof this time. Miss Hilton 
stopped the car. 

“Listen to me, honey,” she called to Babbie. “Tell 
Flopsy all about the canoe test right now, and get 
it over with. It gives me jitters hearing you try to 
tell something willy nilly, between bumps.” She 
took off her hat and tossed it over her shoulder to 
the back seat. She leaned back and wiped off her 
forehead wearily. 

“Never mind, I guess I can wait,” Flopsy said 
obligingly. 





FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 167 


“Go ahead, I’ve got to rest. And so has Sweet 
Petunia.” 

“Well,” Babbie began with a laugh, “you put on 
all your clothes over your bathing suit—your middy, 
your shorts, and you wear socks and sneaks. Then 
you sit up in the bow of the canoe, a counsellor sits 
at the stern. And then you paddle, around and 
around and up and down and up and down, and then 
bingo, without any warning the counsellor tips over 
the canoe. Then there you are in the water. You 
have to take off your clothes, except your bathing 
suit, and put them in the canoe, tie them in. You 
have to get the paddles—they always go floating off 
—and you have to bring the whole works in, and 
if you forget anything or get frightened you can’t 
go out in a canoe—” Babbie drew a long breath. 

“O.K.” Miss Hilton sat up straight again. “Now 
you have the low down on a canoe test. How about 
a little silence back there, as we shoot the shoots 
again? We haven’t much more of this—7 hope!” 

As the car jounced and banged around over the 
horrible road, Flopsy thought over the canoe test. 
She was going to take it just as soon as she could, 
although her heart pounded a bit at the thought. 
Yes, and what was more she did hope she could take 
a canoe trip and sleep out-of-doors it sounded 
thrilling. But perhaps it was merciful that she had 
to keep quiet at the moment—she might have been 
tempted to brag, and she’d better wait and see about 
this test before she did any elaborate boasting. 

They were back on a main highway again. All 
three simultaneously drew a long deep breath of 
thankfulness. 

“Oh, Flopsy, we are near camp. I’ve hiked here, 



168 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


Babbie cried out excitedly. “Before we get to camp, 
I must tell you about Great-great Aunt Clarissa 
Ames. It’s so thrilling.” 

Great-great Aunt Clarissa Ames, so it seemed, had 
written “Molly” a unique letter. Which would she 
rather have—five thousand dollars right now. Now , 
so that she could have a pretty wedding and a nice 
trousseau and perhaps give her mother some of it, or 
wait until Aunt Clarissa had died and get seven thou¬ 
sand dollars? If she took the five thousand, Aunt 
Clarissa said, she herself would have the pleasure of 
hearing about the wedding, and the pleasure of being 
thanked. She would have the joy of being appreciated 
while she was living. If Molly waited until she was 
dead, she’d know with her dying breath that Molly 
didn’t care to thank her in person, and that she 
wanted the extra two thousand more than to say 
“Thank you.” Molly had decided she wanted to 
thank her eccentric but kind old kinswoman, more 
than anything else. She fully realized that it would 
give the old lady a great deal of pleasure and happi¬ 
ness to hear all about the wedding. Aunt Clarissa 
had insisted that she was very romantic about wed¬ 
dings. 

“Oh, Miss Hilton was right!” Flopsy said im¬ 
pulsively. “And your Aunt Clarissa is just like me 
—I am dying to hear about the wedding when it 
comes.” 

“You—” Babbie began, her eyes bright with a 
knowing smile. 

“You chatterbox!” Miss Hilton called over her 
shoulder, and although she winked good naturedly, at 
the same time she gave her head a warning shake. 

Babbie put her fingers over her lips, as though to 




FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 169 


silence herself—her face all puckered up with mis¬ 
chief. Flopsy looked from one to the other. What 
was up? There was something they were not telling. 

“Whoopee! ” Babbie shouted as she almost jumped 
off the seat. Her eyes glowed and two bright spots 
burned on her cheeks. She grabbed Flopsy’s arm. 
Her excitement raced through her body and out of 
her fingers into Flopsy’s very being. Now what? 

“Antwerp! We are coming into our town. See, 
Flopsy, we are almost to the camp. There is the 
store we buy our ice cream cones and candy. It’s 
Mr. Brown’s—the I.G.A. store. Oh, Flopsy, you 
are nearly in camp! It’s three miles now by the road, 
but five miles by the Old Gray Goose. The Old 
Gray Goose is the camp motorboat.” 

Flopsy was tingling from head to foot. She was 
about to enter a new world. Her mother, father, 
Emerald Lake, Diana, Alice and Fleurette, were 
suddenly as far away as though they were on some 
other planet out in boundless space. 

“Oh, I hope you like it!” Babbie’s warm radiant 
face was close to her own. “I love everything. I was 
afraid of the trees at first—now it’s fun to know the 
difference between a white pine, a hemlock or a 
balsam. I love to hear about all the flowers, ferns 
and the birds—Oh, Flopsy, you will love it too!” 

Suddenly there was a persistent toot-toot of an 
automobile horn. A small bus was edging close to 
them. Some one was shouting. 

“Hi there, Miss Molly! Hi there!” 

“Oh, Mr. Perkins!” Miss Hilton brought Sweet 
Petunia to a standstill. “If I am not glad to see you. 
Sweet Petunia has been ready to blow up or fall to 
pieces these last five miles.” 



170 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Miss West said I was to hang around and catch 
you. I am a takin’ Sweet Petunie right over to the 
service station this minute. And you are to go over 
to camp in the Old Gray Goose—Josh be there waitin’ 
fer you—” 

Miss Hilton and the girls were out of the car in a 
trice. Mr. Perkins grabbed Flopsy’s bag. The cars 
were left by the roadside, and Mr. Perkins led the 
way towards the dock. Flopsy caught then her first 
glimpse of the lake. 

“Oh, Mr. Perkins, I want you to meet Flopsy 
Moore. Flopsy is to be with us for two weeks.” Miss 
Hilton smiled down at her small guest. 

“My, ain’t that elegant now. Please to meet you 
Topsy. Well, I swan—they must have called you 
Topsy, because you ‘just growed up,’ not on account 
of your hair. Who ever heard of Topsy with a head 
of red hair?” He hurried along chuckling as he went. 

“ Flopsy —not Topsy,” Babbie shouted. “Flopsy, 
FLOPSY!” 

“I git it,” he laughed and shook all over with 
mirth. “Got ferst off. Topsy. My, that’s a good 
one.” 

“Skip it!” Babbie said under her breath. “Don’t 
pay any attention to him—he’s deaf.” 

In a few minutes more the two girls and Miss 
Hilton were in the camp motorboat the “Old Gray 
Goose.” Flopsy went right to the bow—she wanted 
to see everything the instant it came in view. The 
lake was not in full sight now, they were on a small 
inlet filled with pond lilies, rushes and cat tails. 
Mr. Perkins left them to his son Joshua, who was 
to run the boat over to camp. He was as silent as 



FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 171 


his father was talkative. He gave his passengers a 
bare nod, and started the engine. In a few minutes, 
the boat was out of the inlet, into the lake proper. 
Flopsy held her breath at the width and expanse 
of it. 

“Oh, Flopsy, don’t you love our lake? I do hope 
you will think it’s even more beautiful than Emerald 
Lake. It’s so wild. There are no towns on the lake 
only three camps—you can’t even see them from the 
water—the forests are so thick. Doesn’t it thrill you 
because it is so wild?” Babbie’s voice was throbbing 
with the love of the things about her. 

The boat tore up the lake sending up a high spray 
that moistened Flopsy’s cheeks and glistened like dew- 
drops on her hair. She was beyond speech. Her eyes 
were round like two saucers and her lips parted as 
though to drink in this intoxicating mist. As the lake 
whacked-whacked the boat with a rhythmic sound, in 
Flopsy’s ears rang, and repeated oyer and over, the 
opening lines of Evangline. “This is the forest 
primeval—the murmuring pines and the hemlocks.” 
So, they had once scanned those lines in school, and 
now she was scanning them with her eyes as well as 
ears. For along both shores of the lake was a dense 
forest of ancient pines and hemlocks. 

“The very first thing you must do, Flopsy, is to 
get into your camp clothes. You feel so strange in 
street clothes around camp. What time is it? I’m 
wondering where all the girls will be when we get 
to camp.” Babbie turned to her sister. 

“An hour still to dinner,” Miss Hilton looked at 
her watch. 

“Oh, dear, the girls will be everywhere—scattered 





172 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


all around. I wanted Flopsy to meet them right 
away.” 

“Why no, this will be the end of the seniors swim¬ 
ming hour.” Miss Hilton tried to cheer her sister. 
“Betty and Tommy might be on hand.” 

Flopsy was hearing little or nothing of what was 
being said. The sound of the motor drowned out 
their voices, and its persistent chug-chug, together 
with the movement of the boat was almost lulling 
her to sleep. 

Long, long after, when Flopsy looked back upon 
those weeks at camp she never could patch together 
clearly those very first impressions. They were all 
blurred and mixed up. She could recall the shouts of 
girls at their swimming hour, the first sight of the 
eight foot diving tower and her quick decision that she 
would as soon jump off the Empire State Building 
as to try diving from it. Yes, Miss West had come 
to the dock to meet the Old Gray Goose, but try as 
she would she could never, never recall saying any¬ 
thing to Miss West. Had she been polite? She would 
shiver a bit over this vague memory. Wouldn’t it 
have been AWFUL if she had said nothing at all? 

Babbie had insisted that she get into her bathing 
suit at once and take a dip, for it would refresh her 
after her long and dusty trip. It was the dip that 
brought her sharply to her senses and made all the 
other pictures sharp and clear and unforgettable. As 
she plunged into the waters of the lake, she gasped, 
sputtered and pounded her chest. She decided at her 
earliest opportunity to look Maine up on the map 
again. From this icy bath it seemed that Maine must 
be a lot nearer the North Pole than she had thought. 

After she had come out of the water, Babbie left 



FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 173 


her in the shack to get into her camp clothes. Babbie 
wanted to bring her shack-mates to meet her guest. 
After Flopsy got into her clothes she flopped down 
on the cot nearest her and looked about. Surely, there 
could not be a prettier shack in the whole camp than 
Tinkerbell. The six cots all presented a different 
appearance—some were spread with bright cretonnes 
and piled high with pillows, others were covered 
with gay blankets. The one on which she was sitting 
was the plainest, for over it was just an Indian blan¬ 
ket. In the open window spaces hung birch bark 
baskets filled with ferns and trailing vines. The girls 
were taught how to take the birch bark so as not to 
injure the tree. On the window sills were huge win¬ 
dow boxes, and vases of wild flowers. Everything 
from one end of the shack to the other was in apple 
pie order. 

What was Miss Lindy like, she idly wondered. 
Miss Lindy’s cot was in a niche by itself, shut off from 
the others by a brilliantly colored curtain. She drew 
in a long deep breath of contentment, a breath that 
was sweetened by the perfume of the pine laden air. 

a You are sitting on my bed and putting your things 
all over it,” a voice very near her shattered her pleas¬ 
ant reverie. Was some one trying to be funny, shot 
through her head—some one making believe that she 
was the father bear discovering poor little Goldy 
Locks on his bed? She looked up with a grin, into 
a face above her. Oh! Oh! This tall, stocky girl 
staring down at her was definitely NOT playing any¬ 
thing, she was not acting out the Three Bears. 
Flopsy J s grin vanished at once—for a second she just 
stared at this strange girl with grave eyes and long 
brown pigtails. 




174 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“We have inspection every day and we get credit 
for keeping our shack neat. And so far Tinkerbell 
has never once won the pennant. I want Tinkerbell 
to at least win it once! You are in Pine Cradle? 
You have won lots of times—why do you want to 
spoil our chance?” This girl spoke patiently as though 
she were talking to a small child. 

Flopsy jumped to her feet in confusion. “I—am 
—Flora Moore. I—am Babbie Hilton’s friend,” she 
sputtered out. 

“Oh! I am sorry. I thought you were the red- 
haired girl in Pine Cradle. Welcome to Tinker¬ 
bell! I am Marcella Todd Townsend. I want you 
to call me ‘Marcella Todd.’ ” Marcella Todd held 
out her hand. Flopsy took it, scarcely conscious of 
what she was doing. Welcome to Tinkerbell, indeed! 

In the next second there was the sound of rushing 
scampering feet and with a shout three girls tumbled 
in the shack through the door opposite the one Mar¬ 
cella Todd had entered. A small girl with curly 
head dashed up to Flopsy and grabbed her hand and 
yanked it up and down like a pump handle. 

“Welcome, Flopsy Moore, to Tinkerbell, to our 
camp and to our hearts! I am Tommy Adams and 
everything I have is yours except this strained wrist 
I got playing tennis.” Tommy leaped on one of the 
beds turned a somersault and sat up. “How do you 
like that for a welcome, wasn’t it a pip?” 

The shack was a din now of chatter, giggles, laughs 
and shouts. Flopsy had met her shack mates, for 
Betty Graham had come in at the same time with 
Babbie and Tommy. Close on their heels, Miss 
Lindy herself had appeared. She had come in with 
a grin showing all her pretty dimples, commenting 




“You are sitting on my bed” 
















































FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 177 


as she came, that Betty had forgotten to go to the 
well for water for the shack—and then she had 
stopped short and had rushed over to her guest 
and had given her a hug and a pat on the back. Sud¬ 
denly a shrill whistle rent the air. With one ac¬ 
cord the girls tore out of the shack, with Flopsy at 
their heels, down the pine covered winding path 
to the out-of-door dining room which was built over 
the water. 

After the grace chanted by the entire camp of 
girls, they tumbled into their chairs. Then came 
a big shout from one end of the dining room to the 
other. “STAND UP! STAND! FLOPSY 
MOORE, STAND UP!” 

Flopsy was pushed to her feet by Babbie on one 
side and Tommy on the other. She was as white as a 
sunburned, freckled-face girl could be. As she stood 
and faced that room full of girls, her knees were 
shaking, and she only saw them all in a mixed up 
blur. But she nearly burst with importance and pride 
as they sang lustily, “Just a song of welcome—just 
a song of cheer, just a song to say we’re glad your 
here,” to the tune of Love’s Old Sweet Song. She 
fell back into her seat midst a burst of furious ap¬ 
plause. After that she did not know what she was 
eating, or what was being said to her. She couldn’t 
wait to tell her mother about this welcome, for it 
was certainly something to “write home about.” 

Rest hour—a short hike over to Antwerp late in 
the afternoon—supper—Babbie playing on her guitar 
and singing cowboy songs, before a campfire in the 
early evening—all passed in rapid succession. What 
a day it had been! Not so many hours before, and 
yet worlds away, she had waited breathless and un- 



178 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


certain on the platform of the train at Portland. Now 
she was a part of the life at Camp of White Pines 
and was ready to tumble into a cot along side her 

shack mates in Tinkerbell. 

Miss Lindy sat on the edge of her bed, just after 
the sad and yet wholly soothing and sweet notes of 
taps had floated over the camp, silencing the con¬ 
fused and happy din of fifty girls chattering and 

laughing in their various shacks. 

“Now listen to me, honeychile,” Miss Lindy patted 
her blankets. “You may hear sounds in the night, 
you won’t understand—-but they are right and proper. 
There’s a bird that flies over this lake called a loon, 
it sounds rather weird at times. Sometimes it sounds 
like some one crying, sometimes like some one laugh¬ 
ing. Crying or laughing, it’s high above you and 
perfectly harmless. Then the red squirrels scamper 
over the roof or walk along the window ledges. 
And they too are harmless. And so is the dog in the 
neighborhood that barks, a short funny little bark. 
Don’t be afraid if he doesn’t seem to bark like a 

dog!” 

Miss Lindy certainly thought she was soothing 
any fears Flopsy might feel about her first night at 
camp in the woods, but she was doing no such thing 
—quite the contrary! Flopsy was grateful for all the 
blankets over her, and when Miss Lindy left her she 
pulled them right over her head. Blankets always 
made her feel safe in the dead of the night, safer 
and more secure than a whole row of soldiers or 
policemen. What if a red squirrel fell off the win¬ 
dow ledge into bed with her? She shivered at the 
thought, and decided she’d yell bloody murder, even 
if he were harmless! Or supposing that loon decided 




FLOPSY TAKES A JOURNEY 179 


this was as good a night as any to cry? A weird cry 
Miss Lindy had said. Weird cries appealed to her 
even less than a red squirrel as a bed fellow. And 
less than either was that dog which didn’t bark like 
a dog. Dogs ought to be natural, bark like dogs 
and nothing else. And if he wasn’t a natural dog— 
for Pete’s sake WHAT was he? a Oh, glory,” she 
groaned and drew the blankets closer and decided to 
lie awake and listen for him. The first sound, how¬ 
ever, that she heard was the rousing notes on a bugle 
of reveille. The sun was blazing through the pines 
and making beautiful patterns on the shack walls. 

And so, for three days and three nights, taps fol¬ 
lowed reveille and reveille, taps. The days had no 
beginning or end, they melted away in one whirl of 
breathless happiness. 



Chapter Eight 

Sunday at Camp 

B ABBIE loved Sunday at camp—it was a day 
set apart. There were no arranged hikes or 
trips, no contests, no lessons in arts and crafts, 
and no swimming instruction, just a quiet swimming 
period. Flopsy had been almost afraid that it might 
be a long, dull day, but instead, it was a very happy 
one. 

“It looks like Sunday and it feels like Sunday,” 
Flopsy drew in a long deep breath of satisfaction, 
after breakfast on a radiant Sunday morning. The 
sky, lake, woods and distant fields were bathed in 
a glorious blue gold light, and over all prevailed a 
Sabbath peace. The birds singing in the woods had 
no lively competition on Sunday, for there were no 
wild hilarious shouts, no riotous games. 

“No inspection—that’s one thing I like among 
others, about Sunday,” Babbie had announced. Al¬ 
though she liked Tinkerbell to be a neat and pretty 
shack, and was orderly, the daily inspection meant 
a good deal of sweeping, dusting and picking up— 
even around the outside of the shack. Beds had to 
be made right , floors had to be spotless—even under 
beds and in corners; water pails had to be sunned, 
and then filled again with water, and clothes had 
to be put neatly out of sight, for every little point 

180 


SUNDAY AT CAMP 


181 


was taken into consideration in inspection. No girl 
who neglected her shack duties could ever win a 
degree. But on Sunday, beds were made, clothes 
put away, but not in that furious burst of industry 
that prevailed on weekdays. 

About eleven o’clock the girls went to their shacks, 
got their Bibles and several pillows, and prepared 
themselves to take the trail through the woods. 
There was no church building within many miles 
of camp, but there was a church waiting for them in 
the heart of the woods. The winding trail to this 
woodland church was very narrow, and the girls 
had to walk single file. The fifty girls made a 
pretty sight in their dress uniforms of rich Hunter 
green, as they wound in and out, following one an¬ 
other, singing as they went, the simple little old 

song, 

“Come, come to the Church in the Wildwood— 

No spot is so dear to my childhood.” 

Their trail was high about the edge of the lake 
which sparkled, and gleamed through great pines 
—pines so high and straight that they might be pil¬ 
lars of a great cathedral. A million twinkling can¬ 
dles could be no more beautiful than the brilliant 
tiny sparkles of sunlight blazing through the heavy 
foliage. At their feet were lovely lichens, mosses, 
—a myriad of lacy ferns and wild flowers. 

In and out they trailed—every now and then the 
first girls were lost entirely from view—but their 

song came back to the others. 

“Come, come to the Church in the Wildwood.” 
High up somewhere in the trees, the birds echoed 

their song. 





182 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


The Church Grove itself had not been made. 
There had been no trees cut down—no underbrush 
cleared away—it was there—waiting for them for 
many a long year—and might be the same for many 
another long year. It was on a small plateau above 
the lake and was entirely encircled with magnifi¬ 
cent white pines. Miss West had had rows of 
boards arranged in a semi-circle, so the girls could 
sit right down on the soft pine-needles, and use 
the boards for back-rests, softened by the pillows 
which they brought under their arms. A very rude 
table faced the girls, a table almost covered with 
pines and mosses. Miss West’s seat was as rough 
as the table itself, and that too was entwined with 
vines. Behind her, perhaps a dozen feet or so, was 
one giant pine—so straight that it might have been 
used for the mast of a sailing vessel. To it, with 
just as few nails as possible, was fastened a big rude 
cross of silver birch—The Church in the Wildwood. 

As the girls trooped into the grove and settled 
themselves on the heavy pine-carpeted ground, above 
them the high, sweet notes of a bird filled the air— 
as the notes of a boy soprano might in a cathedral. 
Then the low strumming of a locust took up his song, 
like the vibrating chorus of a huge pipe organ. 

“The Lord is in his Holy Temple, 

Let all the earth keep silence before him.” 

“Amen,”—chanted a hermit thrush from afar 
in the heart of the forest. 

After Miss West had read the fifteenth chapter 
of St. John to them, she talked to them,—or better, 
with them. It was a simple little talk—and she asked 
them questions which they answered. 

“I am the vine—ye are the branches”—the girls’ 
eyes sought the branches all about them. It was 










SUNDAY AT CAMP 


183 


so easy to feel that God was the vine, and they, the 
branches out in this beautiful woodland temple. 

Flopsy and Babbie were spell-bound by Miss 
West’s talk and by her parable which she made 
vivid by the examples of the forest around them. 

Miss Bobby, standing beneath the crude white 
cross of birch, fastened to the giant pine, sang Joyce 
Kilmer’s Trees. After she had finished those last 
lines, there was a profound silence. 

“Poems are made by fools like me 
But only God can make a tree.” 

Somewhere—a white throated sparrow—then a 
chickadee up in their choir loft—sang, as the girls 
filed out of their “pews.” One by one, they took the 
narrow trail, back to camp. 

Flopsy and Babbie walked together. 

“What is this?” Flopsy bent over to pick a 
small flower. Not because she felt she would ever 
know it again, but she knew Babbie enjoyed telling 

her. 

After a happy hour, the quiet of the camp was 
broken by the notes of a bugle. On weekdays they 
were called to meals by a whistle but on Sunday, old 
Jim, the chef, insisted upon playing his one and 
only tune. He discorded, puffed and flatted through 
it, but he felt that nothing could be more beautiful 
and fitting for a call to dinner on Sunday than his 
dearly cherished hymn. 

“If you’re asking me—I think Nearer My God to 
Thee —is a perfectly weird song for a cook to call 
you to dinner by—a dinner he’s cooked himself! Is 
it a promise or a threat?” Flopsy giggled as she 

spoke. 

Tommy chuckled with delight. “I never thought 





184 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


of it in that light ; he’s been playing it on Sundays 
every meal since I came here, and all I’ve noticed is 
that his technique is getting steadily worse.” 

The girls always looked forward to their Sunday 
dinner, for like most Sunday dinners, they were more 
lavish than those of the weekdays. There were al¬ 
ways the huge platters of chicken, the dishes of 
fresh green peas and beans—the chicken gravy on 
the potatoes, and two helpings of ice cream! As 
there was no rest hour on Sunday, the girls could 
wander off or rest as they pleased. Some, who had 
passed all their canoe tests, took the canoes for short 
trips, while others took the row boats. 

“I’ll tell you what let’s do—after I’ve written a 
few letters. Let’s take a walk through the Nature 
Trail—and out to Merrie Northland, and sit and 
talk—just you and me, Flopsy. We’ve hardly ever 
been alone—to just talk. Wouldn’t you like it?” 

“Oh, I’d love it. Let’s!” Flopsy’s eyes shone 
brightly. 

She perched herself on her bed and began to 
write. She found herself so enthralled in her let¬ 
ter to her mother that she forgot to write Alice and 
make her “jealous;” besides the day was too beauti¬ 
ful and she was too happy to be “mean.” 

“Girls, how would you like to have Bible tableaux 
tonight after vespers? I’ve thought of an idea. How 
about having tableaux showing famous women of 
the Bible?” Miss Lindy had just walked into the 
shack, her face beaming with her idea. 

“Oh, Miss Lindy, I think it would be marvelous!” 

“I will tell you how we will arrange it,” Miss 
Lindy went on. “Tinkerbell will do it all—we will 
surprise the camp—I will tell the story and then 







SUNDAY AT CAMP 


185 


I’ll read the verse from the Bible that you will 
choose for your tableaux. Tonight we will take 
the women from the Old Testament—Ruth and 
Naomi—Sarah and Hagar—Rebekah or Rachel—” 
Miss Lindy stopped abruptly as though with a sud¬ 
den thought. “Babbie must be Rachel—” She smiled 
at Babbie as she spoke. 

Babbie’s face flushed a little 5 she wasn’t very sure 
who Rachel was! She looked up into Miss Lindy’s 
face with a faint smile in her black eyes—half shy, 
half questioning. 

Miss Lindy nodded her head approvingly at her 
own idea, as she continued to gaze at Babbie’s face. 
No one’s hair could be more shining black than hers, 
nor could Rachel’s eyes have been darker, nor fea¬ 
tures more delicate and straight. Yes, Babbie must be 
Rachel. 

“Who could I be in the Bible? In the Old Testa¬ 
ment? Salome?” Flopsy asked, with a worried ex¬ 
pression on her face. “Mary Magdalene in the 
New Testament, maybe. Red hair? Who could or 
would have red hair in the Old Testament? Oh, I 
know,” her eyes shone, “I know. I’ll be the Queen 
of Sheba.” She was positively purring with satisfac¬ 
tion. “I’d love to be the Queen of Sheba. All the 
other girls could follow in my train. One of them 
could be a camel.” 

“Well, I won’t be a camel. I am the biggest and 
I reckon you thought of me. I am going to be 
Ruth. I love the story of Ruth and Naomi,” Mar¬ 
cella Todd announced with an air that brooked of 
no contradiction. 

“Maybe we will have to use some of you twice,” 
Miss Lindy said soothingly. “Marcella Todd can 





186 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


be Ruth. Betty Graham, will you be Naomi?” Miss 
Lindy could not picture Marcella Todd’s being Ruth 
and saying, “Thy people will be my people, thy 
God my God.” For there was nothing yielding 
about Marcella Todd—she had not given in one 
inch since she had been in camp. Her ways were 
still her own ways—she would accept no one else’s. 

“Tommy can be Rebekah—” Miss Lindy was 
writing down her program. 

“Now we have Babbie as Rachel ; Flopsy as the 
Queen of Sheba; Marcella Todd will be Ruth; Betty 
Graham, Naomi. Perhaps we could have a tableau 
of Sarah and Hagar. Two girls could be used twice. 
Who will be Hagar?” 

“I will!” Marcella Todd announced promptly. 

Miss Lindy stared at her in amazement. Mar¬ 
cella Todd evidently liked to picture herself as 
gentle and tragically ill-used. It was as difficult to 
imagine Marcella Todd as Hagar as it was as Ruth. 

“Now, who will be Sarah? Sarah, who turned 
Hagar out into the desert with a bottle of water on 
her shoulder and her baby?” 

Babbie would never volunteer to put herself into 
the public eye. Flopsy had decided to be nothing 
less than the Queen of Sheba in all her glory, so 
she, too, did not care to volunteer to be Sarah. The 
choice lay between Tommy or Betty Graham. 

“Miss West wouldn’t like it if we turned these 
tableaux into a grand joke. If you don’t think it 
would be a big laugh my being Sarah, I ask you!” 
Tommy said dryly. “Picture little me—the small¬ 
est girl in the shack—ordering out Marcella Todd 
into the desert. I am about half her size—” There 
was a burst of laughter,—for there was something 





SUNDAY AT CAMP 


187 


droll about little Tommy being Sarah to big Mar¬ 
cella Todd’s Hagar. 

“Betty Graham, will you be Sarah?” Miss Lindy 
asked with a smile. 

“All right,” Betty Graham answered without 
much enthusiasm. She was in two tableaux with 
Marcella Todd, and in each Marcella Todd had 
the more appealing dramatic part. 

“Now, Babbie and Flopsy, if you are going for 
a walk—run along. But before you go, tell Miss 
Scotty where you are going for she is the officer of 
the day. I’d take a Bible along—and look up your 
parts and think over what you can get or arrange for 
clothes and properties.” 

Babbie and Flopsy gaily left the shack together, 
and were soon heading for the Nature Trail. 

Flopsy was surprised to discover just how many 
wild flowers Babbie had learned—Babbie loved 
everything in the out of doors. Nothing pleased her 
better than to walk close beside Miss Peggy, the 
nature counsellor, for Miss Peggy knew the notes 
of the birds, knew each tree, knew the ferns, butter¬ 
flies and all the wild flowers. Nothing thrilled 
Babbie more than to have Miss Peggy stop, and 
remove her field glasses from their case and say, 
“Babbie, would you like to see the blue grosbeak 
singing up there on the tip-top of that tree?” 

On this Sunday afternoon as the two girls walked 
along the Nature Trail, Babbie was absorbed in the 
things about her, but Flopsy had no thought or in¬ 
terest for anything but the night’s entertainment. 

«I’ll borrow all the beads and bracelets in camp. 
Several of the girls have brought up Indian cos¬ 
tumes for a masquerade. I’ll get all their beads and 



188 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


I could even use curtain rings, and I’ll make a 
crown—and—” Flopsy chattered gaily. 

“Look, Flopsy, here is an ‘interrupted fern.’ Oh, 
I am so happy, because I wanted one. I am going 
to make a fern book.” Babbie was far more thrilled 
in her discovery than in the magnificence of the 
Queen of Sheba. 

“And I’ll make long earrings! I’ll use the cur¬ 
tain which is on the couch in the Nature Museum 
for a train and of course I’ll have a specter (she 
meant a ‘scepter’) in my hand—or should I have a 
palm leaf— which!” Flopsy was suddenly deeply 
concerned. 

“A monarch butterfly!” Babbie cried in delight, 
pointing just ahead of them. 

“No. I won’t hold a Monarch butterfly in my 
hand even if I am a Monarch.” 

Babbie looked puzzled. What was Flopsy talk¬ 
ing about? 

“I am talking about what I am going to wear 
tonight, Babbie,” Flopsy explained, with what she 
felt to be a good deal of patience. “I’ve got to look 
like the Queen of Sheba, haven’t I? It wouldn’t 
be respectful to the Bible if I didn’t try very hard 
to look just the way she is described, would it?” 
she asked a little piously. “Now, I’ll help you plan 
your costume as Rachel. But first tell me, do you 
think the Queen of Sheba was dressed anything like 
Cleopatra? I’ve seen pictures of Cleopatra but I 
think it would be a little too snappy if I wore noth¬ 
ing much but a tiger rug.” 

“Where would you get a tiger rug?” Babbie 
asked as she leaned over to examine a flower. “They 
haven’t one in camp.” 



SUNDAY AT CAMP 


189 


Flopsy giggled. “That’s right. There isn’t one 
in camp. Anyway, I think it was a leopard skin.” 

“And they haven’t a leopard skin either,” Bab¬ 
bie said, “and this is a hop clover, Flopsy.” 

“Listen, Babbie, those flowers are to be there to¬ 
morrow, and tonight’s, tonight!” 

“All right,” Babbie agreed good-naturedly. “Let’s 
talk about tonight. But what can I do about Rachel? 

I can’t remember just who she was.” 

“When we get to Merrie Northland, I’ll find out 
about her, for you. Jacob loved her very much and 
served seven years for her. I remember that. I’ll al¬ 
ways love the old Bible stories. Mother knows the 
Bible from end to end.” 

“Until we get to Merrie Northland, can I notice 
flowers and ferns, then? I promise to talk about 
the Queen of Sheba and Rachel all the rest of the 
afternoon if you like.” 

Merrie Northland was at the end of the trail, a 
lovely stretch of meadow land, down by the lake’s 
edge, fringed with a white sandy be,ach. The girls 
had called it “Merrie Northland” because it was 
north of the camp, and because it was there they 
had held many merry picnics. There were two 
huge rock fireplaces, with poles arranged for hang¬ 
ing kettles and pots when suppers were to be cooked 
out of doors. 

“It will seem queer—going back!” Flopsy drew 
designs in the sand with a twig. “I can’t imagine 
summer’s ending /” 

“But it will,” Babbie said with a faint sigh. I 
never was so happy.” 

“You will come here again, I bet, next summer. 
Some day, you will get your second degree and 



190 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


your third. Your—well, Captain David Stewart will 
be your brother then—and he will send you. I’ll 
never come again,” Flopsy’s voice had a faint quiver 
to it. “My family couldn’t afford it.” 

“Let’s talk about tonight, Flopsy,” Babbie changed 
the subject abruptly. “You’re going to be the Queen 
of Sheba. I’ll tell you what! Brush your hair out 
until it’s fluffy. It will be beautiful—almost like a 
halo.” 

“I like your hair better. It always reminds me 
of so many people in books— Sometimes, you make 
me think of the lovely Rebecca in Ivanhoe. But I 
think Rachel is just the part for you.” 

The girls left enough time so that they might wan¬ 
der leisurely back to camp. Now that the matter 
of the costumes for the tableaux had been more or 
less settled—Flopsy was as interested, for the mo¬ 
ment, in wild flowers and ferns as Babbie herself. 

Sunday night suppers were quite different from 
those of week nights. There were no places set at 
the tables. But on them was a pile of paper plates, 
glasses, and knives, several pitchers of milk, dishes 
of j am, cheese, pickles, marmalade and peanut but¬ 
ter, plates of bread, crackers and cake. Each girl 
took her regular place and helped herself in cafe¬ 
teria style. Jim, the chef, and his staff in the kitchen, 
had a rest Sunday night. 

“Vespers,” Miss West announced, “will be at 
seven-thirty in the bungalow. And Tinkerbell has 
prepared some Bible pictures for us.” 

From six until seven-thirty, the inmates of Tinker- 
bell were quietly and mysteriously busy. While many 
of the girls were rowing or paddling up and down 
in front of the camp limits, the five Tinkerbell girls 



SUNDAY AT CAMP 


191 


and their counsellor prepared and rehearsed their 
parts. 

The vesper services were simple and lovely. The 
girls arranged themselves on the floor of the wide 
bungalow porch. The porch faced the west, where 
the sun was slowly going down in all its glory. Way 
down below them was the lake like a gleaming highly 
polished silver platter. 

Miss Bobby went into the bungalow and played 
the piano for their hymns, and through the broad 
open windows drifted the simple chords. 

“The Tinkerbells” were on the small stage in 
the bungalow, all dressed and quite “quivery” with 
excitement. The vesper hymn, Miss West said, 
would be sung after the tableaux, the very last thing. 
When the girls had sung for half an hour, they 
trooped into the bungalow, and waited for the cur¬ 
tain to be drawn and the tableaux to be shown. 
Miss Lindy had prepared a story for each picture, 
and then she read from the Bible the very verse 
the picture represented. The first one was the story 
of Sarah and Hagar. After Miss Lindy had fin¬ 
ished telling the story, she read Sarah’s command 
to Abraham from the Bible: 

“Wherefore she said unto Abraham, ‘Cast out 
this bondswoman and her son: for the son of this 
bondswoman shall not be heir with my son, even with 
Isaac. . . . And Abraham rose up early in the morn¬ 
ing, and took bread, and a bottle of water, and 
gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and 
the child, and sent her away.” 

Marcella Todd was surprisingly good as Hagar. 
Her expression was so grave, so tragic, that as she 
held her baby in one arm and the water bottle on her 



192 UN DER SUMMER SKIES _ 

shoulder, one could imagine that she realized what 
she was facing and what her baby was facing as well. 
Marcella Todd had been very painstaking in every 
detail, and the girls saw a side of her that they had 
never seen before. Marcella Todd never did any¬ 
thing lightly. 

There was a faint smile on many faces when 
Tommy appeared as Rebekah, for try as Tommy 
would, she could not keep her face straight. When 
Miss Lindy read the description of Rebekah, that 
“she was very fair to look upon,” Tommy’s water 
pitcher on her shoulder wobbled very suspiciously! 
Tommy, to control her face, looked skyward—very 
intently—so intently in fact that Miss Lindy had 
the curtain drawn very hastily. 

“And when the Queen of Sheba heard the fame 
of Solomon she came to Jerusalem with a very 
great train, with camels, that bear spices and very 
much gold and precious stones—” 

And there she was! The Queen of Sheba! The 
Queen of Sheba in all her glory. There wasn’t a 
trinket, bracelet, or curtain ring in camp that was 
not upon her—on her neck, her arms, and on the 
sandals on her bare feet. A magnificent crown, 
painted with gold, and studded with emeralds and 
rubies, was upon her head. Her train was a literal 
interpretation, for it was not crowds of servitors and 
courtiers, but a long train which hung from her 
shoulders made out of the curtain from the Nature 
Museum! In one hand she held a huge fan, which 
on weekdays was a green Fuller brush from Miss 
West’s office; in the other hand, a long scepter, en¬ 
twined with ground pine. This Queen of Sheba 
would certainly have, by her majesty and magnifi- 









The Queen of Sheba m all her glory. 














SUNDAY AT CAMP 


19 5 


cence, swept everything before her. Her red-brown 
hair was like so much burnished copper as it gleamed 
ruddy, as the flaming rays of the setting sun caught 
and held it. Flopsy Moore at that minute was not 
taking the part of the Queen of Sheba; she was 
the Queen of Sheba, sweeping on in all her glory 
and splendor to King Solomon! 

Miss Lindy was quite thrilled and very proud 
as she pulled the curtain that ended the brief but 
magnificent reign of Flopsy Moore, Queen of 
Sheba! 

Once again Marcella Todd surprised them all 
when, as Ruth, she knelt devotedly at the feet of 
Naomi. Betty Graham was very sweet as Naomi, 
but there was something startling, a depth of 
feeling, a sincerity, even a nobleness in Marcella 
Todd’s face, as she looked up into the face of her 
“mother-in-law” and made that beautiful promise 
of faithfulness and loyalty: 

“For whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou 
lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, 
and thy God, my God.” 

Babbie dreaded the moment when she was to ap¬ 
pear alone before the whole camp of girls and coun¬ 
sellors! She stood, trembling just a little, and shy 
as she waited. Flopsy had arranged her costume. 
Over her dark hair was a scarlet and yellow scarf, 
and about her head and over the scarf, was a string 
of gold beads—and by pinning several other scarfs 
together, Flopsy had made her robe. On her feet 
were gold sandals. 

Babbie stood at last before them—a shy, shrinking, 
but wholly lovely Rachel. 

“And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and 



196 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love 
he had to her.” 

The vision of this gentle, timid Rachel with her 
delicate form and face, her raven hair, and soft 
black eyes, was so lovely that it did seem as though 
to serve seven years for her love would seem like a 
few days. 

The drawing of the curtain was followed by a 
hush—a Sabbath twilight peace. Softly the girls 
sang the vesper hymn and then trailed off quietly to 
their shacks—and to sweet sleep. 



Chapter Nine 

Letters and a Canoe Test 

T HE next day, Flopsy was trying to write a 
letter to her father and mother during rest 
hour. Although every girl in camp was com¬ 
pelled to keep quiet during this period, and there were 
no distracting noises to make letter writing difficult, 
there were too often distracting sights. For instance 
at this moment Tommy Adams was reading a book in 
manner and position so original and unusual that it 
could not be overlooked. She had laid the book on 
the floor and was lying across her cot on her stomach. 
With her curls tumbling down over her face like a 
sheep dog, she was reading her book, turning its 
pages as though this was the most natural way in the 
world to read. 

Flopsy lay on her cot watching her, ready at any 
second to giggle, but she dared not. She knew right 
well Miss Lindy or Marcella Todd would jump 
“right down her neck” if she did. She deliberately 
turned her back on this idiotic sight and re-read her 
father’s last letter. She smothered a laugh with her 
hand as she did so. She had written home that second 
day that “Babbie had sung and played cowboy songs 
and every (she had left out the word ‘one’) had gone 
simply wild and crazy over her.” Her father had 
promptly answered: 


197 


198 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


My Darling Daughter: 

I suppose it’s too much to ask in the midst of your 
various activities to take time to make life simpler for 
your father. Since you must write in code, he craves 
the key to it. It would make it easier to decipher your 
letters. However, I have discovered all by myself 
that a long word beginning with an “M” and with a 
row of bumps, and ending in a ous” is marvellous! 
And, that another long word starting with a “G” and 
more of these bumps, and ending like the first with 
“ous” is gorgeous. 

I must say, Miss West ought not to tolerate wild 
and crazy everys in camp, they should be chained up 
while Babbie is playing and singing. 

She picked up her pad and began scribbling off a 
letter, trying her best to keep her mind on what 
she was doing and off Tommy, whose curls were 
now only a foot above her book. It would seem 
that any moment now the stillness of the camp would 
be broken by a terrific bump and thump. 

Darlingest Mother and Father: 

Last night, I was the Queen of Sheba and everyone 
(she underlined this last), thought I was wonder¬ 
ful— 

A long drawn sigh from Tommy, made her turn 
her head. She broke off her writing for the moment. 
Tommy wanted to call attention to the fact that this 
way of reading a book was not as easy as it might be. 
Flopsy put her hand over her mouth again to keep 
from laughing outright. Marcella Todd’s warning 
look stopped her. She went back to her letter—it 
had to be written. Without again referring to her 
first statement she rushed on to another thought. 



LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 199 


I am going to take a canoe test tomorrow. It’s all set. 

So, I can go on the over-night canoe trip. Babbie 
looks—muuuuuuous and guuuuous on her horse (you 
know what those words are, daddy). 

The shrill whistle that ended rest hour, tore 
through the air over the camp. The unnatural quiet 
was instantly shattered into a thousand bits. Flopsy 
ended her letter in a helter-skelter, hit-or-miss rush. 
Mr. Moore answered by return mail. 

It’s bad enough having wild and crazy everys 
about the camp but I cannot bear to think that my 
only daughter has gone crazy, too. I am trying to 
comfort your mother and assure her perhaps you 
stayed out in the sun a bit too long. What happened 
just before you thought you were the Queen of Sheba? 
Your mother and I are waiting with intense interest. 

In the meantime, my dear child, will you please wear 
a hat when you are in the sun— 

Flopsy giggled when she read this, and then drew a 
heavy sigh. She wished she did not have to write 
letters in camp, she wished people could know things 
without writing. For instance, she had been meaning 
ever since she got to camp to write Alice and Fleurette 
and tell them about “being good sports” and “good 
campers”—they ought to hear about it—it would be 
good for them. She wanted them to know that you 
must cheer people on and never discourage them. 
You must take teasing “on the chin”—you mustn’t 
complain about things. She felt that her two friends 
would be helped vastly by this new point of view. 
But she had never got around to sending off this 
valuable information. 

Flopsy had taken the first part of her canoe test, 



200 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


with Miss Hilton “timing” her from the dock. She 
had not been too sure about it, but to her delight, 
she found it was just “pie” to swim about for fifteen 
minutes without touching anything. 

The next day she got into her bathing suit and 
put her camp clothes over it. Her shack mates sat 
around and watched her, helping her and advising 
her. She felt like a queen setting off for her corona¬ 
tion with the girls as her ladies-in-waiting. Mar¬ 
cella Todd was nice and seemed determined that 
Flopsy should win. She offered Flopsy her middy 
because it was bigger and would be easier to get 
out of in the water. Betty Graham gave her an old 
pair of sneakers—so that if Flopsy should drop 
them—it wouldn’t be much loss. But she was warned 
not to drop them—she MUST bring them in. 

Flopsy swaggered down to the dock with her shack 
mates in her wake. She looked about and felt very 
important as she noted that about half the camp was 
there waiting to watch and cheer her. Miss Bobby, 
the swimming instructor, was the one to take her out. 

“Up in the bow for you, Flopsy!” Miss Bobby or¬ 
dered. 

And Flopsy, with pounding heart, did as she was 
told. She grinned and waved to the audience on 
the shore, like a circus performer about to perform 
a dazzling feat. Miss Bobby, without any more ado, 
struck out and the canoe headed for the opposite 
shore for some hundred yards. Then abruptly she 
turned the canoe about and they paddled up and 
down and up and down in front of the camp. Miss 
Bobby kept talking, trying to distract Flopsy’s at¬ 
tention. 

“Now, remember this, Flopsy,” she was speaking 



LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 201 


as though giving simple directions and as though 
there was no question of a canoe test, a remember, 
that when you are a bow paddler on a canoe trip, you 
are just as important as the stern paddler. Especially, 
if we go up the Little Shaded River, as we are plan¬ 
ning. It is very narrow and winding and full of 
snags. You will be in a position to see what is 
coming before the stern paddler. You will be the 
pilot. Never, never say, ‘Look! Look!’ and then 
point. But do something and do it quickly—just as 
I am going to do at this minute.” And she had 
dumped Flopsy into the water. 

Miss Bobby struck out for the shore. The canoe 
was upside down and the paddles were floating off, 
many yards apart. Flopsy was confused, rattled. 
She started for the canoe which even in a minute 
had got beyond her reach. 

The girls had never seen Marcella Todd so ex¬ 
cited. She cupped her hands and made a megaphone 
of them and shouted frantically, “Get your paddles! 
PADDLES! PADDLES! ” 

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Flopsy 
struck for the paddles which were floating farther 
and farther away. For the next few minutes the 
girls shouted directions. Flopsy, cheered by their 
loyalty, was keenly alive and alert to the situation. 
Their interest was intoxicating. She must put on a 
good show—and she did! She brought the paddles 
back to the canoe. And then she hung to the side 
of it and ripped off Marcella Todd’s middy, and 
waved it over her head like a flag and dropped it 
into the canoe. Next came her bloomers. She waved 
them around in the air and stretched them out so 
that they looked like a pair of pants. These too, 



202 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


went into the canoe, as the girls shouted with laugh¬ 
ter. She wound her legs about the stern of the canoe 
and with her feet in the air, tore off her socks and 
sneakers. To the horror of her audience they no¬ 
ticed that she was about to nonchalantly drop her 
shoes and socks to the bottom of the lake—a life¬ 
time’s bad habit was about to be her undoing. Her 
mother had always been in despair at the way she 
dropped her shoes and stockings on the floor wherever 

she took them off. 

“YOUR SNEAKS! HOLD THEM, HOLD 
THEM!” Marcella Todd and Babbie shrieked 
wildly. Oh, she mustn’t fail now! She mustn’t! 
And she didn’t. Although the sneakers had slipped 
from her hands, she made a dive for them and 
caught them! It was over! In triumph, she pushed 
the canoe ahead of her to the dock. A roar of ap¬ 
proval greeted her as she stood up on the shore 
again. They burst into song. 

Flopsy, Flopsy, here’s to you! 

You’re a good sport through and through. 

And know what you can do— 

YOU BET—WE DO! 

The song fell sweet, very sweet upon her ears. 
She mustn’t look puffed up, however; she mustn’t 
swagger about. Pleased as she was with herself, she 
was also a little tired and in her heart she knew it 
had not been easy. 

A short time later, Flopsy went to Tinkerbell 
looking for Babbie. In the general confusion after 
the canoe test she had lost track of her. As Flopsy 
stood in the doorway, she saw Marcella Todd and 
Miss Lindy. Marcella Todd was talking very seri- 



LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 203 


ously and earnestly. Neither of them had heard her. 

“Oh, Miss Lindy, I do try to think Tommy and 
Flopsy are funny but I can’t, I can’t. I simply can’t 
laugh at them as the other girls do. They do such 
silly things! I wish I thought they were funny. 
I want to be a good sport and a good camper—but 
I can’t laugh at silly things,” she repeated emphati¬ 
cally. “Now, some of the girls thought Flopsy was 
funny when she was doing the canoe test, but I did 
not. I thought she was a good sport. I wanted her 
to pass it. I couldn’t laugh—I simply couldn’t!” 
Her tone was tragic. 

“My dear child,” Miss Lindy said softly, “my 
dear Marcella Todd, you are not used to girls are 
you? You are an only child aren’t you?” 

“Yes, I have only my mother and father for 
friends. I have a private tutor, you know. My 
daddy, who is a doctor, takes me on his rounds. I 
always sit in the automobile while he is in the house, 
reading a book. We always talk about serious things. 
I think people can’t learn too soon how really seri¬ 
ous life is.” 

Miss Lindy felt that this last comment was quoted. 
They were her parents’ words. 

“I can like Flopsy and Tommy—but I simply can’t 
laugh at them!” Marcella Todd wailed. “I can’t, 
Miss Lindy!” 

Flopsy turned and fled. She ran rather blindly 
down towards the water’s edge. She threw herself 
into a hammock which was hung between two birches. 
She felt so silly and stupid, so foolish. But she was 
touched by Marcella Todd’s saying that she. liked 
her. She lay very still, her face somber. This was 
the first, and last, shadowed moment in camp. 



204 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Flopsy! Flopsy!” It was Babbie’s voice eager 
and excited. 

Flopsy sat up and answered her. At the sight or 
Flopsy’s sad expression Babbie exclaimed, “Why, 
what is it? Something has happened! Tell me, 
please!” 

Flopsy told her—sweetly, gently, and without 
complaint. She had felt hurt, but she felt it wasn’t 
this camp spirit they were always talking about to 
say so. Babbie’s eyes flashed. She was angry—and 
it was startling to see Babbie angry—but it was com¬ 
forting. Her indignation and loyalty were very 
sweet. 

“You know, Babbie, I guess I am a goose. Why 
should I care if Marcella Todd doesn’t think I am 
funny? Maybe I am not. Maybe, I am silly. Any¬ 
way, Marcella Todd was a good sport this morning, 
she helped me in my canoe test, she reminded me 
about the paddles and my socks. She says she likes 
me, too,” Flopsy added with an air of great gener¬ 
osity. 

“Well—” Babbie drawled in a dubious fashion, 
“I am not sure I’ll like her. You and Tommy have 
given us so much fun. And she’s hurt your feelings 
lots and lots of times.” 

“Don’t let’s tell Tommy.” Flopsy was still hold¬ 
ing her noble pose. “It might hurt her feelings, 
too.” 

“It would not,” Babbie said sensibly. “She 
wouldn’t think a thing about it. She’d only say 
Marcella Todd was cuckoo. You know Tommy— 
she’s blunt!” 

“Did you want to tell me something, or show me 
something?” Flopsy asked sweetly, now soothed and 



LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 205 


herself again. “You came running as though you 
had something on your mind.” 

“Oh I did!” Babbie’s eyes were bright. “Molly 
wants to tell you something. She asked me to find 
you. Hi there! Here we are!” She cupped her 
hands to her mouth and called her sister. 

Flopsy sat bolt upright in the hammock, tingling 
with interest and expectancy. Something in Babbie’s 
manner suggested that this was going to be impor¬ 
tant. 

“Well, here you are!” Miss Hilton smiled down 
at Flopsy as she came to them. “Stay right where 
you are and I’ll sit on this log. It is quiet and se¬ 
cluded here. And what I have to tell is for just us 
three.” 

Flopsy’s eyes were widening now with surprise. 
What could it be? Something nice, at least, because 
Molly Hilton was radiating happiness. 

“Two things, Flopsy!” she began as she seated 
herself. “The first is for you alone. The other 
thing I have to tell is for the three of us to share. 
For a second I forgot the first. Here it is. Miss 
West just told me that she is planning an over-night 
canoe trip in a few days and she wants you to go.” 

“Oh, Miss Hilton!” Flopsy sprang to her feet. 
“Oh, how wonderful! I’ll love it! I could hug 
some one.” 

“Please do!” and she caught her former pupil in 
her arms. “You funny child! I must be ‘Miss Hil¬ 
ton’ to you always. I suppose when all the world 
calls me Mrs. Stewart, you will still call me—” 

“Miss Hilton!” Flopsy nodded. “Always and 
forever.” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what else I have to 



206 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


tell you? Something the three of us have to share? 
The canoe trip, you see, leaves Babbie and me out—” 

“Oh—why?” Flopsy’s face fell. 

“Well, you know the camp rules. Babbie isn’t a 
good enough swimmer. And, I—well—I want to 
be here to get a letter—” and to Flopsy’s amazement 
she blushed furiously. 

“She gets a letter every day from David,” Babbie 
explained. “Every day. And she’d miss it if she 
were not here in the morning.” 

“Oh not as bad as that!” Miss Hilton protested, 
her face now flaming. “Oh, I could wait a few hours 
—but well, you see so many important things are 
in my letters these days. So many things to be de¬ 
cided.” 

Flopsy eyed her former teacher solemnly and with 
great curiosity. This was being in love, she supposed. 
It didn’t seem possible. Would she ever wait for a 
letter? Could she ever give up an over-night canoe 
trip for a sweetheart? It was amazing. But, at the 
same time, a little thrilling. 

“Flopsy!” Miss Hilton spoke quickly, before 
another comment could be made. “Flopsy, I have 
a very special favor to ask of you.” She took Flopsy’s 
face between her hands and looked down into the 
puzzled countenance with a smile. 

“Oh—what?” Flopsy’s eyes widened. 

“Will you please be one of the bridesmaids at my 
wedding?” 

“A—a— bridesmaid!” Flopsy gasped. She could 
scarcely believe her ears. She was dumbfounded. 
But at the same time she began to swell with pride. 

“Yes, one of my bridesmaids. I want you and 
Alice Holt. Babbie is to be my maid of honor. Will 
you?” 



LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 207 


“Will I? Oh Pd love it, Pd adore it! It would 
be marvelous, wonderful—it would be gorgeous!” 
For a passing second she felt a pang of jealousy 
that she must share this startling honor with Alice. 
Then it melted away. “Oh Miss Hilton! ” she threw 
her arms about her former teacher’s neck. “I am 
thrilled right down to my toes.” 

“Now Flopsy, let us sit down again and talk.” 
Miss Hilton, Babbie and Flopsy sat down by the 
water’s edge. “We were speaking of letters a few 
minutes ago,” she dug down into a pocket. “This 
is a very special one. I received it several weeks 
ago.” 

“Who do you reckon it’s from?” Babbie teased. 
She was thrilled as Flopsy at this minute although 
she had been in on this secret for weeks. 

“Hush up, you saucy child!” Miss Hilton re¬ 
proved with a smile. “Yes, it is from David. And 
it is the letter that gave me the very happy idea to 
have Alice and Flopsy as bridesmaids. You see, he 
had taken a long, long trip and went to call upon 
our Great-great-Aunt Clarissa Ames. It is a story 
book tale he wrote me of that visit. Do you want 
me to read the part you are in?” She turned to 
Flopsy. 

“That I am in?” Flopsy gasped. 

“Yes, you and Alice. Let me find it.” Miss Hil¬ 
ton turned over the pages of the letter. “Here, is 
about where it starts—” 

—Your lovely old aunt is no bigger than a pint of 
peanuts, and weighs no more than a feather. You 
should have seen her faithful butler carry her down 
to the dining room. He’s an old darkey called “Uncle 
Washington” and although he must be nearly seventy 
he picked up Aunt Clarissa as though she were a tiny 



208 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


baby. When I looked at that beautiful little old lady 
of eighty-six—I had a happy vision of our golden 
wedding. Beauty must run in the family and I could 
see— 

Molly Hilton broke off suddenly. The color 

raced to the roots of her hair. 

Like Alice in Wonderland, Flopsy thought to 
herself—“It’s getting curiouser and curiouser—” 

“I don’t think I’ll read any more of this letter, 
because I don’t know just where David is going to 
write something foolish. I’d better tell you. It was 
a very charming meal he had with my old aunt. The 
table was beautiful with its candelabra and rare old 
silver. And Aunt Clarissa looked like a little old 
princess. When he told her that, she smiled in a 
curious way, and said he was very discerning and 
very nearly right. Wasn’t that strange? He told 
her all about us—Babbie, my mother, the ranch— 
and then my year and a half at School Number 
Nine. And she listened very intently to his story 
of how he met you and Alice and what it all meant 
to me. Then she gave an order—an order that was 
not to be denied. This little red-head and Alice 
were to be my bridesmaids—it would be charming 
and altogether fitting. Why, she even has an idea 
of what you shall wear. A very lovely and ro¬ 
mantic idea. She didn’t tell David what it was—she 
will write me about it—” 

There was a breathless silence. Flopsy drew a 
long deep breath. It was too much for her—she had 
no words. A whistle tore through the camp, fol¬ 
lowed by a scamper of dozens of feet and the shouts 
of the girls. Flopsy blinked and shook herself, for 




LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 209 


a few minutes she had completely forgotten where 
she was—she had been in a rosy day dream. 

All through lunch she was strangely silent. The 
spell of that moment by the water’s edge hung over 
her for hours. It was not completely broken until 
she heard about the plans for the canoe trip that 
evening. Miss West stood up at her place at the 
table and announced them. Four counsellors were 
to go, Miss Lindy, Miss Joe, Miss Bobby and Miss 
Peggy. Then she read the names of the eight girls. 
Flopsy’s heart was in her mouth. One by one they 
were mentioned and Flopsy’s name came last. For 
a few awful seconds she thought Miss Hilton had 
made a mistake and that she was not to go after all. 
Most of the girls were seniors and expert paddlers. 
Tommy was the only girl from her shack. Thank 
goodness, Tommy was going! Yes, and thank good¬ 
ness about Mandy Marshall too—Mandy was the 
red-haired girl in “Pine Cradle,” that Marcella 
Todd had mistaken her for that first day. In the 
beginning, Flopsy had not liked Mandy, not at all. 
Some of the girls had insisted that they looked alike 
and Flopsy had stared at her in a very unfriendly 
way. She decided that her hair was nowhere near as 
fiery as Mandy’s, nor had she a pug nose, and Mandy 
certainly had a million more freckles than she had! 
But Mandy was celebrated as the biggest giggler in 
camp and for being unfailingly good-natured. Flopsy 
liked her from the first moment that Mandy ex¬ 
pressed herself on this so-called resemblance. She 
said that she wished she were only half as pretty 
as Flopsy and that she knew she was as homely as a 
mud fence. Flopsy warmed to her at once. 

During rest hour the next day, Flopsy began the 



210 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


most scrambled, mixed-up letter she had ever writ¬ 
ten home and some of the preceding ones had been 
pretty complicated! She had to tell Miss Hilton’s 
NEWS, and she had to tell about the canoe trip. 
She read over her last sentence: “Miss Hilton says 
she is going to be married in a church where David’s 
mother and father were married two hundred and 
fifty years ago. And when we start on our trip 
Miss West is going to take moving pictures of us.” 

“Oh nuts! ” she groaned and tossed the letter away. 
The church was two hundred and fifty years old— 
they were not married when it was built! Miss Hil¬ 
ton had said she was going to write her mother— 
and maybe she had better let her do it! She was 
happy for the first time that silence was imposed 
upon them—for she wanted to dream over these 
plans. She curled up in a heap and pulled a blanket 
over her head. She turned her back upon her shack 
mates. For once she didn’t care what antics Tommy 
might be up to. 

Early the next morning right after breakfast, Miss 
Bobby’s voice tore through the camp as she roared 
into a megaphone, “DOWN TO THE DOCK IM- 
MEED-JECTLY—ALL CANOERS!” 

The get-away was every bit as exciting as though 
they were embarking for the South Pole. Miss West 
was there with her movie camera, and as Flopsy 
heard its click she felt for all the world like Ad¬ 
miral Byrd. Four canoes in a single line loaded with 
pots, pans, provisions, ponchos, and with their human 
cargo of four counsellors and eight girls headed 
down the lake. Flopsy was overjoyed that she was 
given the bow position in Miss Lindy’s canoe. Billy 
Wilson, a girl of seventeen, was their passenger— 



LETTERS AND A CANOE TEST 211 


Billy had been on so many trips that it was no nov¬ 
elty to her to paddle, and she willingly let Flopsy 
take her place. 

The sky was radiantly blue and the lake had 
enough “surf” to make the paddling exciting. Un¬ 
til they reached Antwerp, a distance of five miles, 
they paddled in unison, and sang one song after an¬ 
other. There old Mr. Brown met them and helped 
them to “port” their canoes over to the Little Shaded 
River—a distance of only a few hundred yards. By 
the side of this beautiful little stream they ate their 
first meal. This they had brought with them, for 
they did not want to take time to cook—as they had 
eighteen miles of paddling up stream ahead of them 
before they reached their destination. They hur¬ 
ried through this meal eager to be on their way. 
An hour later they stopped at a sandy beach and had a 
long swimming period. Then they were off again. 



Chapter Ten 

An Over-Night Canoe Trif 

L OOK what’s here! Look!” Flopsy sputtered 
after they had twisted back and forth on 
themselves a dozen times on the stream. 
“Look!” 

Miss Lindy was about to remind her of Miss 
Bobby’s warning: “Don’t shout ‘Look!* Do some¬ 
thing!” when Miss Lindy suddenly saw what Flopsy 
saw! Tommy was out of her canoe, perched high 
and dry on a fallen tree which stretched almost across 
the stream, her canoe was wedged between its 
branches. Behind her canoe was the second with 
Miss Peggy, and this one was trying to get around 
Tommy’s, but in the narrow space there was little 
room and the rushing waters were bent on turning 
the canoe down stream instead of up. Every one 
was working furiously like a lot of beavers on a 
dam, but not as quietly—for there was a general hub¬ 
bub. 

“Oh, what a traffic jam! We ought to blow our 
horn.” Flopsy giggled, but she used all her strength 
to keep her canoe from turning around and going 
back to Antwerp. “Worse than those crazy horses,” 
she gasped to herself. “They won’t do what you 
want.” 

“Look out, Tommy! You will land us in the 

212 


AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 213 


water!” Tommy was kicking now at the bow of her 
canoe as well as pushing it off with her paddle. 

“Where are you going?” Billy Wilson shouted, 
as Miss Peggy’s canoe headed down stream and 
aimed right at Flopsy’s. 

“Foolish question 1,000,000!” shouted Mary El¬ 
len. “Keep your canoe out of my way!” 

Just then the fourth canoe appeared, and all four 
of them were now cluttered up in one narrow hair¬ 
pin curve, with the whirling water insistent upon 
turning them down stream—or into a snag. 

“Say, Tommy, have a heart,” for Tommy was 
fairly savage as she tried to get out of the snarl 
she was in. 

“Listen, get out of our way. We have to have 
room to back out of this mess. Now back up, please.” 
Tommy held her hand up like a traffic officer. 
“Back up and no passing on a curve.” Tommy 
stepped into her canoe again, and gave one more 
violent shove. The canoe rocked this way and that 
and every one expected to land sprawling in the 
water. 

“I can’t keep this canoe away from this old snag 
any longer,” Flopsy wailed. She was gritting her 
teeth, and using all her might and main to keep her 
canoe headed up stream. 

“Mandy!” roared Miss Bobby, “if you don’t stop 
giggling, I’ll crown you with my paddle.” 

Mandy, now fairly hysterical, was making only 
feeble efforts to paddle. “My stomach aches!” she 
gasped weakly. 

An epidemic of giggles and snickers broke out 
and the canoes got into a worse jam than ever. 

“Well, let’s just go down stream. We might just 




214 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


as well” Miss Joe said calmly. “We better give it 
all up. It’s too bad, because we are nearly at the 
sandy beach where I expected we’d have supper.” 

This promptly sobered everybody. Flopsy man¬ 
aged to get her canoe through the narrow passage, 
past Tommy’s canoe. With her departure, there was 
room left for Tommy’s canoe and she quickly fol¬ 
lowed in Flopsy’s wake. 

Flopsy could hear an uproar behind her; evi¬ 
dently one of the last canoes was getting all snarled 
up into something. 

“Don’t stop, Flopsy, don’t turn around. You’ve 
done very well, so far.” Miss Lindy turned her 
head to see what the trouble was. “Don’t turn 
around, but something tells me that Mandy has 
landed her canoe into that same tree that Tommy 
discovered. They will have a rare time if she has. 
She’s still giggling her head off! ” 

“We will get there first,” Flopsy boasted glee¬ 
fully. “We will make the first landing!” And 
Flopsy made good her boast, for within the next 
half hour, her canoe glided up to a very beautiful 
silver white sandy beach. 

No weary world-wide wanderers could have been 
more happy at the sight of their port—their haven 
—than those girls. They had paddled steadily for 
hours, and the last hour had been a hard, hard pull. 

Flopsy stepped out of her canoe with scarcely less 
feeling of triumph than the Pilgrims must have felt 
as they landed on Plymouth Rock! 

“Land at last!” she shouted. She was the first 
to step upon this “Land” and that added to her ela¬ 
tion. 

After the canoes had been pulled upon the shore, 



AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 215 


and unloaded, the one question in every one’s mind 
—on every one’s tongue was—“When-do-we-eat?” 

“Some one’s got to go to that farmhouse over 
there for milk and eggs—some one else must gather 
wood for a fire—” Miss Joe was ordering and di¬ 



viding the girls up in twos and threes for various 
tasks. 

Flopsy and Tommy insisted upon going to the 
farm. Miss Joe looked at them doubtfully. 

“You are a bad combination to send for eggs. Let 
it steady your mirth, Tommy, to realize that ten 
starving people will be ready to annihilate you if 



































216 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


you break those eggs. Perhaps Flopsy better, carry 
them—although I haven’t any too much faith in 
her.” 

Miss Joe gave them the money and told them to 
a be gone.” Each girl had a pail—one for milk and 
the other for eggs. With many misgivings, Miss Joe 
stood looking after their rapidly retreating figures. 

“Billy Wilson—please stop what you are doing 
and go after those two and help them ” Billy 
flew— It interested her far more than peeling po¬ 
tatoes. 

The beach was low and lay beneath a steep em¬ 
bankment covered with underbrush. One had to 
climb up through a snarl of branches before she 
came to the broad meadow that stretched far off to 
the farm house. It was the descent from that meadow 
that worried Miss Joe. 

Billy and Tommy carried back the milk—a quart 
and a half each. Flopsy was carrying two dozen eggs. 

“Pll go down this place first,” Flopsy announced, 
as they were about to climb down the meadow to 
the beach. “It will be better.” She didn’t explain 
why she thought it would be better—because she 
didn’t know. 

There was practically no path—they were mak¬ 
ing their way down through a tangle of underbrush. 

“I think we are climbing down what was once 
a brook—it is all rocky and slimy and just a little 
wet,” Flopsy shouted back to the other two. She 
held her pail of eggs high over her head; she was 
far more intent on keeping her eyes on it than on 
where her feet were stepping. With one hand she 
was pushing back branches which got in her way, hit 
her face, and caught her hair. 

Billy and Tommy were just behind and quite 



AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 217 


often she would let fly a branch into Tommy’s face, 
which made her squeal with laughter, even as she 
protested. 

Flopsy put her foot down on a smooth slimy moss- 
covered rock—her ankle turned—and down she 
crashed through a mass of branches. She let out a 
feeble squeal of horror and felt a momentary pang of 
agony. Tommy, right at her heels, fell over her as 
she lay sprawled upon the rocks—there she sat 
down with a wallop on Flopsy’s free foot—the one 
that was not turned under. Both girls were giggling 
hysterically. Flopsy’s egg pail had caught on a 
branch and was wobbling in a perilous position just 
above her head. Tommy had splashed milk in all 
directions—the leaves were glistening with drops 
of “milky dew.” 

Billy caught up to them and she, too, succumbed 
to weak, hopeless giggles. 

“Flopsy, grab that egg pail, for the love of Mike! ” 

Flopsy stretched up and pulled it off the branch, 
just in time to save herself from returning to the 
beach looking like an animated dish of scrambled 
eggs. 

“I can’t stand up!” Flopsy groaned. “My ankle’s 
broken.” 

“Well if it is, we will simply have to shoot you 
and leave you here. There is no earthly way to carry 
you along with this milk and these eggs. Provisions 
must be gotten to the expedition,” Billy suggested 
quite serenely. 

“Supposing I had spilled this milk all over you 
and supposing those eggs had crashed all over you— 
you’d have been an egg-nog,” Tommy squeaked— 
she was far too weak to talk coherently. 

“Shut up!” Billy retorted inelegantly. “We have 



218 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


got to go on—and we never will as long as you two 
lie there giggling. Try standing up, Flopsy.” 

Flopsy pulled herself to her feet. She had laughed 
and giggled until she could not possibly let forth 
another little squeak. 

“Oh, Pll manage it somehow” Flopsy said nobly 
—half in jest and wholly in earnest. Her foot did 
hurt, but not enough to prevent her using it. 

By the time they reached the beach again, a roar¬ 
ing fire had been made. It was letting out a long, 
straight streak of smoke—up—and up—toward the 
sky. What a heavenly smell! Is there any fragrance 
sweeter than that of a wood fire out in the open? The 
tiny dry twigs in it crackled and snapped. Flopsy 
stood spell-bound, sniffing and delighting in the noise 
of the burning wood in her ears. 

“Here you are!” There was a shout of welcome. 
“Eggs, milk and all! You’ve given us a bad fifteen 
minutes. We never expected to see the milk and eggs 
both. We heard Tommy giggling in the distance.” 

Flopsy was eager to help get the meal—it was her 
first opportunity really to take part in the cooking 
of a big meal in the open. She joined the girls who 
were peeling potatoes; their job, however, was nearly 
finished. 

Miss Bobby stood watching them a few minutes, 
and then she said dryly, “There’s one girl who has 
never peeled a potato before in her life. Flops, have 
you ever peeled a potato before?” 

Flopsy was startled, and even a little hurt. What 
was there to peeling a potato? You had a knife and 
a potato, and there was no skill required—you just 
got the skin off! 

“If you ask me, I’d say you were whittling that 



AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 219 


potato,” Miss Bobby commented—in a reflective 
fashion. “And it’s just as well that most of them were 
peeled before you arrived.” 

“Please let me cream the potatoes,” Flopsy begged. 
“I’ve watched mother do it a million times, and I 
know I can.” Flopsy was perfectly happy. She was 
given the salt, pepper, flour, butter and milk. They 
had brought a huge pail to cook the potatoes. Be¬ 
sides creamed potatoes, they were to have a big fry¬ 
ing pan of bacon—two fried eggs apiece, a cup of 
coffee—and if they wished, a glass of milk. For 
dessert there were pears and doughnuts. Oh, what 
a repast! Surely a banquet for a queen—and a dozen 
queens at that! 

“Oh, I am weak! When do we eat?” Tommy 
groaned. 

Flopsy’s face was a fiery red. A combination of a 
day on the water, a hot fire, and exciting work, had 
made her look like a boiled lobster. She had finished 
her potatoes and with a happy but weary gesture, 
she tossed away the warm wet curls from her flam¬ 
ing face. Her hair was standing up on end about her 
crimson countenance. 

“Instead of being the bridesmaid at the wedding, 
you look more like the boiled lobster for the salad!” 
some one said. 

“Oh, dear!” Flopsy sighed. “Do I look awful?” 
She didn’t care, she was too happy and content. 
Paper plates, paper napkins, the knives and forks 
were distributed, and Miss Bobby and Miss Joe 
served the meal, piling up each plate just as high 
as it was safe. The girls flopped down just where 
it was easiest—and ate and ate. They hardly said a 
word at first; they were too ravenously hungry to 



220 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


care about anything but food. At last, the “Ahs” 
and “Ohs” came. Oh, what food! Oh, what potatoes! 
Flopsy was a wonder! She was radiant—not only 
literally—but spiritually. She had never had more 
satisfaction from any accomplishment in her life— 
probably, because it was one no one would have 
expected of her! Who among her relatives or friends 
would think of her as a good cook? They would 
have laughed uproariously at the idea. It was the 
novelty of it that had inspired her—cooking in the 
open was an adventure new and exciting! 

After the girls had eaten everything but the paper 
plates, they lay stretched out on the sandy beach 
like a lot of little puppies that had stuffed themselves 
until they couldn’t move. 

“Girls, we must make our beds before it grows 
dark—that’s a hard and fast rule. We will sleep 
up in the meadow, so our packs must be carried there 
now. After we have made them, we can sit here by 
the fire and sing. Mandy’s brought her ‘uke’ along. 
We will have a regular camp fire evening. Anyone 
who wants can hike over with Miss Peggy and 
Miss Lindy to Madrid—” 

Flopsy was disgusted with the idea of anyone’s 
hiking anywhere— Goodness, hadn’t they had 
enough exercise for one day? She wanted every one 
to sit cosily about the fire and sing. She was relieved 
to see that only three girls volunteered to go. Well, 
let them! There were seven people still to sit by 
the fire and sing. 

The girls carried their packs up the embankment, 
through the underbrush, falling over themselves as 
they giggled their way up to the meadow. 

“Flopsy, I’ve got an idea. Let’s Tommy, you and 




AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 221 


me sleep on one poncho. We can talk about stars 
until we go to sleep. It’s going to be a gorgeous 
night,” Mandy suggested. Mandy hated making up 
her bed—she’d have preferred to share another’s. 

“Okay,” Tommy agreed good-naturedly. “You 
can sleep on my poncho—as long as I don’t sleep 
in the middle.” 

“We will let Flopsy sleep in the middle—so she 
can talk to both of us—” Mandy hastened to say. 

Flopsy didn’t seem to have much to say about it. 
The bed upon which Flopsy, Mandy and Tommy 
were to sleep had to be made width-ways of the 
poncho—instead of length-ways. 

“How will we ever stretch our feet out?” Flopsy 
asked dubiously. 

“We can’t—we will have to curl up,” Mandy 
giggled. “And curl up plenty!” 

The girls were now calling for Mandy and her 
“uke.” The sun had set and a beautiful twilight 
had followed in its wake. A fragrant twilight, so 
soft and lovely that it almost hurt! 

Mandy dropped down on the sand by the fire— 
and strummed at her ukelele. The notes of Love’s 
Old Sweet Song sounded. And softly the girls sang 
one song after another. 

Flopsy lay back on the sand singing and looking 
up fascinated and enthralled by the afterglow in 
the gorgeous summer sky. What a perfect ending 
to a perfect day! Flopsy felt sentimental. .In the 
deepening light the songs, old tender sentimental 
ballads, drifted over the river, In the Gloaming , The 
End of a Perfect Day } I Love You Truly, The 
Long, Long Trail ,—and on and on—the girls sang 
first one and then another. At last darkness fell 



222 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


and the stars came out one by one. Their songs 
changed, they were foolish, gay, rollicking camp 
songs, college songs. By the time the Madrid 
hikers had returned, the music was riotous. The 
fire was burning brightly with a ruddy glow, as 
deep and as red as a pigeon-blood ruby! They 
danced, did tricks, stunts, shouted and laughed, 
until at last they rolled over on the sand too weary 
and happy to move. It had been a long, long day. 
It seemed ages since Miss Bobby had announced the 
canoe trip at breakfast that very morning. 

“You know, I never in my life have found any¬ 
thing but the Great Dipper. I never have found the 
Little Dipper, although I’ve said ‘Oh, yes, 5 a million 
times when I about decided I would get crowned 
on the head if I didn’t say I saw it.” Flopsy was 
lying on her back staring up into the starry sky. 

“Girls! It’s nine o’clock and after. Let’s get to 
bed and find your constellations from there,” Miss 
Joe suggested. “You ought to be dead tired.” 

Flopsy was eager to try out a bed upon the ground; 
it was her first experience with sleeping out of doors. 
The meadow was now very wet with a dew so heavy 
that it soaked their sneakers through in a minute. 

“For Pete’s sake!” Tommy flopped down on her 
“bed.” “It’s like going to bed in a pond.” 

“I am not going to get into my p’j’s,” Flopsy 
announced. “And what is more, I am going to wear 
my bathing cap. I am preparing to spend the night 
in this pond. Whose sweet idea was it that I sleep 
in the middle?” 

“Well, it has its compensations—it’s the dryest 
spot,” Tommy observed. “So don’t kick!” 



AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 223 


“Kick!” Flopsy squealed. “Don’t mention the 
word. I won’t be able to move. I’ll be jammed so 
tight. But I’ll have two people kicking me.” 

The girls finally wriggled and twisted themselves 
into the space under the blankets and on their poncho. 
Flopsy lay still—for a few minutes, almost too sur¬ 
prised and shocked for words. 

“Why, I never knew anything could be so hard” 
she gasped. “It’s awful! Whoever thought it was 
nice to sleep flat on the ground?” 

“It’s beautiful, old top,” Tommy said soothingly. 
“Now, don’t get ‘tender-footish’ on us. Look up at 
the stars and forget the ground—that’s the idea.” 

For a few minutes the girls were quiet—but only 
for a few minutes. 

“Say,” Flopsy whispered; the silence out in the 
meadows under the stars appalled her. “What was 
that animal that barked like a dog, but who wasn’t 
a dog?” 

Mandy rolled over and almost fell out of the 
blankets in a wild fit of giggling. 

“Let her giggle. If she rolls out into the wet 
meadow it will bring her to, and you’ll be getting 
a chance to move your legs,” Tommy said coolly. “I 
know what you mean. I guess Miss Lindy meant 
a fox. We used to hear them once in a while barking 
off in the woods.” 

Supposing? Supposing that fox or any other fox 
—were to bark now—she couldn’t even move. She 
was not even in a shack with a roof over her head. 
Supposing? Supposing a field mouse played around 
her face and neck? She couldn’t use her arms to 
brush him away! 




224 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Don’t you just adore lying here in the open 
under the stars?” Mandy sighed sentimentally. 

“Ye—ah,” Flopsy agreed with little enthusiasm. 
“But I’d like it better if I weren’t a slice of ham be¬ 
tween two pieces of bread. Besides, Tommy kicked 
me a million times and she’s gone to sleep with her 
elbows boring a deep well into my back. Sure, it’s 
just great, I love it!” Just then she felt something 
nipping into the back of her neck—a lot of some¬ 
things, nipping for all they were worth. Her head 
was on a pillow made of her rolled-up sweater and 
her extra middy. 

“Glory Hallelujah!” she squealed, as she sat bolt 
upright, tearing and ripping the blankets off the 
other two girls. “What is it? What is it?” She was 
frightened almost out of her wits. “A whole bunch of 
things are eating my neck right through to my back¬ 
bone.” She was kneeling and was frantically feeling 
around for a flashlight. Mandy and Tommy, now 
wide awake, were almost as startled and frantic as 
she was. What was it? What was sharing their bed 
under the stars with them? 

“You’re crazy!” Tommy said. “You only im¬ 
agined it. What could bite you through to the bone?” 

“Plenty of things—snakes, hornets, rats, mice, 
foxes. Oh, glory, where is my flash?” She was turn¬ 
ing the bed upside down and inside out. 

Girls’ heads were bobbing up from everywhere. 
A hubbub broke over the broad silent meadow. 

Tommy found her own flash first and turned it 
on Flopsy’s pillow. She let out a squeal, “There, 
there, that’s what was biting you. Look!” 

Flopsy was almost afraid to look. “If it’s some- 



AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 225 


thing awful,” she thought, “I’ll just yell bloody 
murder.” But then she looked. There it was lying 
upon her pillow. 

“What is it?” Miss Joe called. “What is the 
matter?” 

“Flopsy’s tooth-brush bit her. It bit her in the 
back of the neck right through to the bone! ” Tommy 
yelled lustily. “But I’ve got it. It can’t do any more 
harm.” 

A shout of joy rent the air. For the next hour the 
laughter did not die down, except for a few seconds 
and then it would begin all over again. Sleep was 
simply out of the question—the girls were wide 
staring awake. Miss Joe made several protests. Miss 
Bobbie roundly denounced their idiocy, and the only 
answer was smothered snickers and giggles. 

Flopsy, Tommy, and Mandy switched their posi¬ 
tions—just for something to do. Tommy was in the 
middle now, and she made some remark about being 
“between two fires” as she touched the two red heads 
on either side of her. Mandy giggled and Flopsy 
thought this was as good a time as any to keep quiet 
and try sleeping. 

The girls all insisted next day that they had never 
slept a wink, but there was an hour or so when the 
meadow was quiet, except for the strumming of the 
crickets. Dawn at last, gray, misty and fragrant. 
Flopsy opened her eyes to something strange and 
sweet—dawn out in the open, under the skies. The 
sunset the day before, twilight, dusk, starlight and 
now the dawn. Streaks of rosy light in the sky. How 
sweet was the meadow! Flopsy lay wondering, fasci¬ 
nated and enthralled. The birds’ twittering, greeting 



226 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


the dawn, was music in her ears. Although she was 
stiff from a night on the hard ground, she was happy. 
She would never forget the memory of this sunrise 
—nor for that matter would she ever be tempted 
into trying to sleep on the ground again! Once was 
quite enough for a lifetime as far as she was con¬ 
cerned. 

Breakfast was cooked and served at the unearthly 
early hour—half-past-five o’clock. The sun was now 
blazing forth in all its glory. Before breakfast, every 
one had a swim and by the time all were dressed they 
were ravenously hungry. Flopsy insisted upon help¬ 
ing with the cooking. Their breakfast consisted of 
fruit—bacon—cereal—coffee and toast. 

Mandy took her black and badly bent piece of 
toast and went off in a fit of giggles. Tommy stared 
at her in cool disgust. 

“What’s started you going?” she asked. 

“Supposing you were home, and some one gave 
you a jet black broken piece of toast for breakfast 
and a cup of coffee filled with sand—would you eat 
it? Wouldn’t it be awful? Well, look at me—eating 
it as though it were a rare treat.” Mandy was laugh¬ 
ing so hard that tears rolled down her face. She 
wiped them off with the sleeve of her middy. 

“You’re hopeless!” Tommy sighed, but Mandy’s 
giggles were infectious and soon all the girls were 
laughing over practically nothing at all. 

After breakfast, the fire was put out, the beach 
made as clean and spotless as they found it, and their 
packs were made up again, ready for the trip camp- 
ward. 

“Let’s go! ” they shouted. “On the way.” 

Once again, they were in their canoes. The stern 



AN OVER-NIGHT CANOE TRIP 227 


paddlers were now passengers and the counsellors 
were now stern paddlers. 

Flopsy didn’t want to be a passenger even for a 
minute, although they promised she should be some¬ 
time during the day. 

The trip down the Little Shaded River was very 
different from the one up! The canoes raced along, 
the stern paddler had only to guide them. There 
was no effort at all to paddle. 

“We are whirling along as though we were going 
down a toboggan slide,” Flopsy marvelled. It hardly 
seemed possible that they could go so fast on that 
stream, after the long hard pull of the day before— 
with the current against them all the way. It was 
fascinating watching the scenery “flying by.” The 
snags and snarls of yesterday were no problems to¬ 
day! The girls took a long swimming period be¬ 
cause they didn’t want to arrive in camp until supper¬ 
time. It would be so dramatic to arrive then for the 
girls at home at supper-time would be straining their 
eyes down the lake and borrowing field-glasses to 
catch a glimpse of the four returning canoes. It had 
been so in other canoe trips—it would be so in this 
one. 

Those last few miles on the lake were a hard stiff 
pull. The lake was certainly going for all it was 
worth in the wrong direction—it was beaten up into 
waves and white caps. Overhead, storm-clouds were 
gathering. No one talked. Passengers were given 
paddles and every one worked and pulled like mad 
to get back in time for supper and beat the storm. 
On the way, they saw a mother loon floating on the 
water carrying three baby loons on her back. She, 
too, was anxious to get away from the storm. Flopsy, 




228 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


although her arms and back ached, loved the excite 
ment, the feeling of possible danger. 

“What a wild finish,” Flopsy sighed contentedly 
to herself. “I’ll bet they are worrying about us, and 
hoping we will make it.” 

No one said a word aloud until the dock of Camp 
of White Pines appeared in sight. It was just pull— 
pull. 

Miss West was waiting for them and obviously 
anxious. The girls landed and docked their canoes 
in the highest of spirits—there wasn’t a groan or a 
wail—they were proud and satisfied. 

“The camp is at supper, girls, so—” Miss West 
began with a smile. 

a So—there we go double-quick time—we are 
starved. We can change our middies later. They 
are only sprinkled.” 

The girls raced pell-mell through camp to the 
dining hall, shouting and calling as they went, for 
they wanted their return heralded; they wanted 
every last person in camp to know that they had 
beaten an oncoming storm, and had returned gaily, 
brightly, triumphantly! 

They raced into the dining room and took their 
places amid the cheers and greetings of the stay-at- 
homes. Flopsy was fairly bursting with pride! 



Chapter Eleven 

“And They Lived Huffy Ever After” 

O NE brilliantly clear, cold, crisp morning, 
Flopsy awoke with a dull and heavy heart. 
Summer was on the wane. There was the 
tang of Autumn in the air. A feeling of depression 
almost overwhelmed her. She snuggled deeper in 
her blankets. Her shack-mates were still sleeping, 
as the bugle notes of reveille had not yet sounded. 
It was her last morning, her last day, in Tinkerbell, 
her last day at Camp of White Pine. She was to hear 
reveille but she was not to hear taps. When taps 
floated sweetly over the pine trees that night, she 
would be in a sleeper on a train going home. This 
last day had come upon her as suddenly as though 
she had had no warning. Just like that! 

These girls she was parting with she had known 
only two weeks but it seemed that to be separated 
from them was to be torn and uprooted from some¬ 
thing that was a part of her life. It was all a new 
sensation and as bewildering as it was miserable. 
The pang of parting from friends made on a vacation 
is out of all proportion to their real place in one’s 
existence. 

“I’ll probably never, never, never see these girls 
again.” She rolled over on her face and buried her 
face in the pillow. “Never, what a word!” 

229 


230 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“You’ve got to pack today.” Babbie’s voice was 
quivering and small, and it seemed to float through 
the air. 

Then the notes of reveille sounded over the camp. 
They came at a merciful moment—action helped. 
The girls were tumbling out of bed, grumbling as 
they got into their bathing suits. 

“You ought to be thankful, Flops, you don’t have 
to get into a tub tomorrow morning full of ice cubes,” 
Tommy sang out. 

“It’s too bad you’re going to miss the water sports 
day after tomorrow. It’s a pity, isn’t it?” Betty 
Graham said. 

“Do think of cheerful things,” Flopsy groaned. 
“Do try and brighten me up! ” 

“And the closing banquet this year is to be the 
best ever,” Marcella Todd commented. “At least, 
so they say.” 

“Don’t talk about it! ” Flopsy’s gloom was deepen¬ 
ing. 

“Cheer up, old top,” Tommy banged her on the 
back, “your last dip!” 

The rest of the morning was unreal. The land¬ 
scape seemed broad, wide, clear and unutterably lone¬ 
some. Summer was dying. Flopsy could not swallow 
that lump in her throat. 

“I hate last days—last good times.” Flopsy 
choked a bit. “My last hike to the farm on the hill, 
my last walk to Merrie Northland, my last swim, my 
last paddle—my last—” 

“Oh, don’t please—please—” Marcella Todd be- 
seeched—her eyes swimming with tears. “Oh, please 
don’t talk like that. I’ll miss you, Flopsy. I will, 
I will. Truly I will. You did make me laugh. I 



“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER” 231 


never thought you would. But you did. And now 
you are making me cry—” 

Marcella Todd threw herself upon Flopsy and 
sobbed. 

“For love of mackerel!” Miss Lindy’s voice broke 
in upon them. “What a cheery sight.” 

“Marcella Todd’s crying because Flopsy made her 
laugh,” Tommy explained with a large wink. 

“Have you packed yet, Flopsy?” Miss Lindy 
spoke crisply. She herself felt a little annoying lump 
in her own throat. Poor Marcella Todd! 

The next half hour was riotous. The gloom had 
to be beaten down, thoroughly and effectively. And 
the girls made a good job of it. 

“As long as I live, I’ll never understand how my 
clothes got to be a million times as many in two 
weeks. I can’t get them in my suitcase,” Flopsy 
stormed. “Who wants—this middy—and this one. 
I won’t want them much again. Who wants this 
darn old bath robe—” Flopsy was now tossing her 
clothes about. “Take your pick. I can’t pack them,” 
she wailed in despair. 

“Hey, there,” Miss Lindy called. “That was a 
new bath robe when you came. Besides, that suit¬ 
case is plenty big enough.” 

“Let me help you,” Marcella Todd begged 
eagerly. “I want to help you. I am very neat, you 
know. It’s not fun being neat, but it’s convenient 
sometimes.” 

Before supper, Babbie and Flopsy went up to 
Tinkerbell. Miss Hilton was waiting for them. 
Flopsy was to get into her traveling clothes. 

“Now, you two,” Miss Hilton’s eyes were warm 
and bright. “I’ve been watching you. Don’t you 



232 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


remember the best is yet to be? That not far ahead 
is a bright and rosy day? Oh, Flopsy, you look so 
sweet and lovely—your sunburn has all faded these 
last few days—and I’ve a secret for you, a last min¬ 
ute secret. In only a few weeks more—early in 
September—you are coming back to Maine. Oh, 
don’t look so round-eyed and like a little owl. I am 
to be married,” and the pretty pink glowed deeper 
in her cheeks, “in the most beautiful little chapel, 
down by the ocean. Oh, you’ll love it! It’s all 
arranged. When you get home, you will find that 
your mother knows this part of the story. When 
Babbie and I return in only a week now, we are 
coming straight to your home and you will hear all 
the rest of it.” 

“Oh, Flopsy, you will make a lovely bridesmaid! 
Oh, you will!” Babbie’s voice quivered. It had been 
quivering all day. She did not want Flopsy to go 
away. She could not bear to see Elsie Turnbull’s 
dull brown hair lying on that pillow, where Flopsy’s 
warm bright locks had lain. Oh, how she would miss 
her! 

“I guess it was a good idea I wore a hat these last 
few days,” Flopsy said lamely. She couldn’t talk. 
Bright days behind her—bright days ahead—but the 
moment was very cold and dark. 

Throughout supper, the girls sang songs to Flopsy, 
made her stand up and bow. Even Miss West made 
a sweet little farewell speech. Babbie was elated by 
the attention Flopsy was receiving. 

Miss West sent a dozen girls and a few counsellors 
over to the station in the camp car with Flopsy. 
Flopsy was not taking the sleeper from Portland but 
from a nearby town. 



“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER” 233 


As Flopsy tramped up the hill from the camp to 
the road, she again felt like the Queen of Sheba— 
for she indeed had a train in her wake! Every one 
was now in high spirits, joking, teasing as they 
merrily trooped up that hill. 

“Oh, Flopsy, what will Tinkerbell be like tomor¬ 
row?” Marcella Todd’s voice broke. “I can’t bear 
to think of it.” 

“Let’s,” Miss Hilton suggested, “think of the poor 
deserted little shack. Let’s sing ( Auld Lang Syne, 
c Farewell to thee ( In the Sweet Bye and Bye y 
We Shall Meet on that Beautiful Shore? Then we 
shall all float into the depot on an ocean of tears. 
Let’s make the parting as sad as possible. I can think 
of a few more heart-throbbing songs.” 

And with a shout of laughter, they broke into the 
gayest, silliest, craziest songs they knew. Babbie, 
with brightly burning cheeks, sang one cowboy song 
after another. The hour’s trip to the depot was over 
—all over! 

“Write me! Write me! Write me!” Over and 
over again, this request was made—and over and 
over again the promise given. Marcella Todd was in 
an agony of tears. Suddenly before Flopsy’s eyes, 
the girls’ faces became blurred. No one seemed real, 
herself least of all. Her last moment at camp was 
now as hazy and mixed up as her first had been. 
Had she said the right things, the polite things? 
She never could remember later on. 

It was all over. She was on the train, the shouts 
and cheers were still ringing in her ears, but she 
was quite alone sitting on a Pullman seat, facing 
homeward. 

Facing homeward, and suddenly thinking of home 



234 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


—of Mother—of Daddy, Dickie, Frankie, Alice, 
Fleurette, and all her friends. 

And almost before she knew it, she was in her 
mother’s arms. Daddy was standing jealously by, 
he longed to hug that red-headed little minx of his. 

“Oh, mother, aren’t you glad to see me?” Flopsy 
looked up into her mother’s face. “Why, mother, 
there are tears in your eyes.” 

For an hour or more Flopsy talked incessantly. 
Then, abruptly, she ceased. She felt lost, strange 
even in her own home. The house seemed so un¬ 
familiar, so much smaller than it ever had, smaller 
than the wide out of doors she had been living in. 
Mrs. Moore watched her and understood the swift 
change. She could understand how Flopsy felt, as 
she saw her try to swallow and keep back some of her 
tears. 

“Darling, Alice wants to see you. She’s called and 
called. And so has Fleurette. You’d better see 
them.” 

With a grateful look, Flopsy flew to the telephone. 
At that moment, the girls at camp were no farther 
away from her than Fleurette and Alice. In spite of 
her long telephone calls the feeling of loneliness 
persisted throughout the day. However, before 
another twenty-four hours had gone by, Tinkerbell, 
Betty Graham, Tommy Adams, and Marcella Todd 
had receded from her so far, as to be worlds away. 
She had, of course, written Babbie and Miss Hilton, 
but she never mailed the postal cards she had bought 
to send the others. That solemn pledge to write was 
broken. The girls, too, never wrote her. The strang¬ 
est thing of all was that Flopsy never gave even a 
passing thought to the fact that they hadn’t. 



“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER” 235 


Ten days later, Flopsy and Alice and their mothers 
were sitting in the Moores’ living room. There was 
to be an all important conference. Miss Hilton and 
Babbie were due at any moment now. The wedding 
plans were to be discussed. 

When they arrived, Molly Hilton, looking as 
lovely as a picture, was carrying a large box under 
her arm. The color came and went a dozen times in 
her cheeks, as she greeted her friends. Babbie was 
on her toes with excitement. Every one’s eyes were 
on that box. What did it hold? 

“Tell them! Tell them, please Molly,” Babbie 
begged. “I can’t wait.” 

“Nor can we!” Mrs. Moore laughed. 

“Well!” Miss Hilton began, her eyes luminous. 
“It’s a story. Flopsy knows part of it. It’s about my 
Great-great-Aunt Clarissa Ames. She has planned 
my wedding as though it were her own. In a sense, 
she feels it is—a belated wedding—a wedding that 
should have taken place seventy years ago. Seventy 
years ago! Think of that! Just after the Civil War! 
She was sixteen then. She was to marry a French 
prince whom she met when she was taking the Grand 
Tour. Seventy years ago this autumn, he set sail 
from France with his little sister—a girl of fifteen and 
their aunt. The little princess was to be a bridesmaid. 
The wedding never took place. As they drove along 
bad country roads in a coach to the Ames estate, the 
horses were frightened and ran away. The bride¬ 
groom and the bridesmaid were killed. The aunt 
arrived, broken-hearted and crippled,. with nothing 
to remind one of a wedding but the little princess’s 
portmanteau filled with lovely clothes. Aunt Clarissa 
has sent me the dress which was to have been worn 



236 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


by the bridesmaid. We are to have it copied for my 
bridesmaids.” 

In an awed hush, Molly Hilton opened her 
precious bundle. Gently, she lifted the lovely dress 
from the box. 

“I have not brought the hoops which went under 
it,” she explained. “We will not use them. The 
dresses are to be of taffeta and ruffled as you see— 
so they will look billowy without hoops. Here are 
the pantalettes of exquisite lace.” 

“Pants!” Flopsy gasped—her eyes round and 
filled with dismay. “Are we going to wear pants!” 

There was a shout of laughter. “Oh, dear, that’s 
just how long the story stayed romantic and senti¬ 
mental—until our Flopsy had spoken—” Molly 
Hilton’s eyes were dancing. “And, Flopsy, that’s 
just what David said! We are going to have the 
dresses made right to the ground—and no pantalettes. 
I wrote and told Aunt Clarissa that, and she said as 
long as the rest of the costume was copied exactly, 
she did not in the least mind. Oh, you should see 
the bonnet, it is so lovely and quaint, and a perfect 
frame to the sweet young faces of my bridesmaids!” 

After a moment’s hubbub, Molly Hilton spoke 
again. 

“It’s to be a secret—no one is to know.” She 
looked from Flopsy to Alice, who nodded vigor¬ 
ously. They were completely enchanted with these 
plans. “The dresses are to be the colors suggesting 
autumn, Babbie’s dress is to be a rich old gold. 
Flopsy’s and Alice’s are to be a deeper shade, almost 
coppery. The bonnets are to be of brown velvet,” 
she paused as the “Ahs” and “Ohs” were breathed. 
“No word of this is to come out until the wedding. 




“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER ,y 237 


It will make a romantic little story for the news¬ 
paper. Aunt Clarissa loves the newspapers. Col¬ 
lecting unusual stories is a hobby with her—she 
has books and books of clippings. And, if it were not 
for a newspaper notice, Flopsy, she would never have 
known us all.” Miss Hilton smiled. “Aunt Clarissa 
says she is eccentric and I think the dear little old 
lady is all she says she is!” 

On Thursday, the day before they left for Maine, 
they had one rehearsal for the wedding. At noon 
on the day of the wedding they were to have another 
in the little chapel itself. The wedding was to be 
at four o’clock Saturday afternoon. Friday had to be 
spent in traveling. 

“Flopsy, are you going to giggle Saturday after¬ 
noon?” Alice asked after the first rehearsal. Flopsy 
had giggled all through it. “And, are you going to 
keep in step with me?” 

“I don’t think so,” Flopsy admitted cheerfully. 
“I mean I don’t think I am going to keep in step 
with you and I do think I am going to giggle. I 
never kept in step with anyone in school when we 
were marching, don’t you remember? I was always 
being pulled out of line. And, I can’t see why I 
giggle but I do.” 

“Well, it’s just going to be awful,” Alice scolded. 
“Miss Hilton will be sorry she ever asked you. 
Weddings are not funny, they are very serious.” 

“I know,” Flopsy agreed. “They are very serious. 
I always want to giggle when things are serious— 
and you can’t laugh. Isn’t it awful? What shall I 
do? That usher I have to walk with going out is a 
scream. He makes me laugh. He was making funny 
faces. He asked David, Tf it rains Saturday, are 



238 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


you going to have it or not?’ Didn’t you hear him?” 

Alice herself giggled at the idea. “ ‘Are you going 
to have it if it rains?’ Imagine postponing a wed¬ 
ding!” 

“And David acted so silly. And then when I take 
that long step to keep in time with the wedding 
march, I feel as though I were going over on my 
head.” 

“Well, don’t you dare do it, Flopsy Moore! I’ll 
never never speak to you again as long as I live if 
you do!” 

“Of course, I hope I don’t—but—” Flopsy 
promised nothing. “But if that usher makes cross- 
eyes at me Saturday afternoon, and if he kisses my 
hand when we are going down the aisle, I am just 
going to burst right out laughing. It’s his fault—” 

“Well, goodnight!” Alice squealed. “What a 
happy prospect. I thought you said weddings were 
romantic!” 

“They are,” Flopsy nodded. “That’s why they 
make me giggle. Goodness, Alice, I can’t help it. 
Don’t get crabby. Do you suppose I want to giggle? 
Use your head and don’t start a fight. Babbie never 
said a word to me because I giggled.” 

“Oh, Babbie!” Alice retorted. “She’s very sweet 
and nice.” 

Alice looked sideways at Flopsy’s face and sud¬ 
denly her expression changed. She laughed in the 
best of good humor. 

“I was only teasing you, Flopsy, don’t get sore. 
It’s going to be a perfectly wonderful wedding.” 

One very beautiful Friday afternoon in the middle 
of September, Flopsy, her mother, father and Mrs. 
Jackson (the kindly woman with whom Molly Hil- 




“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER yy 239 


ton had boarded), were heading for Maine in the 
Moores 5 car. The Holts brought along Mr. and 
Mrs. Morris in their car. Mr. Morris was the princi¬ 
pal of School Number Nine. It was not until long 
after midnight that they arrived at the quaint pre- 
Revolutionary Inn where they were all to spend what 
was left of the night. They found the rest of the 
wedding party and guests waiting for them. 

The young bridesmaids were hurried off to bed 
and told to stay there until they were called the 
next morning. They could sleep almost up to the 
time for the noon rehearsal. The most important 
thing was they must look fresh, radiant and lovely 
for the ceremony. 

The wedding day was not raining, there could 
be no desire to “call it off 55 —even if anyone could 
conceive of anything so idiotic. It was as beautiful a 
September day as one could imagine. The autumn 
had, so it would seem, rushed hurriedly into Maine 
with all its abundant glory—just to make the wed¬ 
ding perfect. 

Out in the vestibule of the chapel, three girls were 
standing very, very close to each other, as though 
for protection and comfort. Their eyes were wide 
and their lips parted breathlessly. Flopsy’s knees 
were shaking and she had an awful fear that any 
moment she might giggle—or worse, yet—cry. 

The wedding guests had all arrived and were 
waiting in their pews. There were not more than 
fifty people in that beautiful little chapel—only those 
dearest and nearest to Molly and David. 

Mrs. Hilton, Molly’s mother, was sitting happy 
and tremulous, beside Mr. Bates, David’s uncle, who 
as president of the Board of Education had once 



240 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


made life difficult for Molly Hilton. However, at 
this minute he looked benign and seraphic. He was 
just a sweet and kindly old man who was proud and 
happy in his nephew’s choice of a bride! Mrs. 
Jackson sat on the other side of Mrs. Hilton and 
looked every bit as happy and tremulous. There in 
the pew behind them was Mr. Morris, the principal 
of School Number Nine and his wife. Scattered here 
and there were some very prominent and important¬ 
looking friends of David’s. And right along with 
them were two cow-hands from the ranch in Raw- 
hide. They had been hitch-hiking across the country 
for over a week. 

Mr. and Mrs. Moore sat in the same pew with 
Judge and Mrs. Holt. Mr. and Mrs. North sat in 
front of them. Mr. North was the janitor of School 
Number Nine. Mrs. North whispered to her hus¬ 
band, “I hope they sing, singing is nice at weddings. 
It makes them real sweet. I hope they sing ‘Oh 
Promise Me ’ and ‘BecauseI And ‘Lead Kindly 
Lighty is nice, too, I heard that once.” 

Mr. Moore nudged his wife; they both stared 
ahead to keep from laughing. Mr. Moore was say¬ 
ing over and over to himself, “ ‘Amid encircling 
gloom—the way is dark and I am far from home.’ 
Happy thought for a wedding,” he reflected to him¬ 
self. 

The brilliant afternoon sunshine was blazing 
through the stained glass windows—flooding the 
exquisite little chapel. The roar of the sea was 
deeper than the tones of the organ—and its chant 
seemed to be —forever and forever through bound¬ 
less space and time. 

Then clear and sweet rose the notes of a soprano 



“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTERS 241 


voice up in the choir loft. Warm and tender they 
floated over the little assembly. 

Believe me, if all these endearing young charms, 
Which 1 gaxe on so fondly today. 

Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms 
Like fairy gifts fading away. 

The chapel was very still as that promise was sung. 

No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets y 
But as truly loves on to the close, 

As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets 
The same look which she turned when he rose. 

There was a breathless hush as the notes died, but 
the everlasting sea took up the song and went on 
and on. 

Suddenly the organ burst into a joyous chord. 
At the altar was the officiating clergyman, 
kindly old Dr. Edmonds. Years and years before, 
David Stewart’s mother and father had stood at 
this very altar railing and he had joined their 
hands. 

“HERE COMES THE BRIDE!” 

There was a movement, as with one accord every 
one was on his feet. 

The ushers, two by two, very solemn, came first. 
But it was not the solemn ushers who interested 
anyone—they might as well have been stuffed shirts. 
Babbie, Alice and Flopsy, three slender slips of girls 
came floating down the aisle—like three fluttering 
autumn leaves caught by a gentle breeze. A breeze so 
gentle and soft that it brought them up to the altar 
railing and no farther. The delicate rustling of their 
taffeta frocks was silent now. 





242 


UNDER SUMMER SKIES 


“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight 
of God and in the face of this company to join to¬ 
gether this Man and this Woman in holy Matri¬ 
mony.” 

Dr. Edmond’s voice, rich and low, filled the 
chapel. Flopsy Moore no longer felt like giggling. 
That was long, long ages ago that she felt that way— 
aeons ago when she had been out in the vestibule! 
She was now so awestruck, so overwhelmed with 
the solemnity of the moment that she did feel, 
oh, so very much, like an autumn leaf—an au¬ 
tumn leaf that was about to crumple up and lie for¬ 
ever still. 

In a trance she saw Mrs. Hilton step from the 
front pew in answer to Dr. Edmond’s “who giveth 
this Woman.” She saw Mrs. Hilton step back again 
into her former place. She heard Molly Hilton’s 
familiar and yet unfamiliar voice give some answers. 
She heard David’s low promises. To think, she had 
planned to notice every detail and to remember 
them all the days of her life. And she wasn’t even 
thinking —she was scarcely even feeling. 

Once again the organ peeled out—now with a 
tone of joyful triumph. Flopsy was tingling with 
life once more, right down to her very toes; she 
turned and grinned broadly all about her. She felt 
distinctly proud of herself, as though she were 
largely responsible for this deliriously happy mo¬ 
ment. 

Molly Hilton Stewart stood beside her husband 
in the vestibule of the chapel, before she went back 
to the old inn to receive her guests at a small recep¬ 
tion. She was waiting for her bridesmaids. 

“Oh you lovely, lovely girls!” She caught them 



“LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER” 243 


in her arms and her misty veil seemed to float about 
and encircle them all. “I couldn’t see you before 
the ceremony for my eyes—were—” 

“Seeing only me, Mrs. Stewart!” David broke 
in with a grin. He was standing holding his bride’s 
bouquet and was looking altogether foolish and 
happy. 

“Mrs. Stewart” Alice echoed. “Oh Flopsy, she’s 
Mrs. Stewart!” 

“Mrs. Stewart,” Babbie breathed in a small voice. 
“She’s Molly to me—” 

“She’ll be Miss Hilton to me always and always!” 
Flopsy shook her head. She broke off and threw her 
arms about Molly Stewart’s neck and buried her 
face in the soft satin folds of her dress. 

“You darling, you funny, funny darling—I under¬ 
stand, indeed I do—” Molly held her close for a 
second— 

“Come—come we must be going.” David took his 
bride’s arm. “We must be started on this living 
happy forever after.” 

“And, they lived happy forever after,” Flopsy 
repeated as the three bridesmaids rode back to the 
inn in the automobile, directly behind the one which 
held a radiant bride and a proud bridegroom. “Yes, 
forever and ever!” 

























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